Chasing the Tiger
by CJane
Summary: A seemingly simple case has Greg and Riley making an unsual discovery. This is a case fiction and not a romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Chasing the Tiger**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not claim to own the characters. CBS, et al. do and I'm just "borrowing" them temporarily, so I'd appreciate not being the target of any legal action.**

**Author's Notes:**

**This is only story number three for me. I'm still new at this and really appreciate constructive criticism, suggestions, and comments. Don't be shy in hitting the "review" button. I don't bite.**

**I should warn you that I am **_**not**_** a Ray Langston fan. If you are looking for a story where he plays a large role, this is not it. I may mention him here and there, but honestly I prefer to pretend he doesn't exist. Sorry.**

**I have part of this chapter written from Riley's perspective, but gave up on it. Turns out, I can't quite "feel" her yet.**

**I forgot to mention that this story takes place in October 2009. I know it's only June. Bear with me on this one....**

**Chapter One**

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Greg raced passed Judy at front reception, flashing his ID as he turned the corner and nearly plowed right into Henry.

"Sorry!" He did not have time for extensive apologies and mentally noted that he'd have to speak to the poor Tech later. This was the third time this week that he was late for work and Catherine was going to _kill_ him. Without slowing his pace, Greg made impact with the layout room door, practically stumbling into the room. He was met with four sets of surprised expressions and one very pissed off one.

"Sorry I'm late. Flat tire," he muttered breathlessly as he plopped into the nearest vacant seat. Feeling Catherine's cold stare, he didn't dare make eye contact.

"Something wrong with your phone, Greg?" Catherine glared at him, assignment sheets gripped in her hands. She had obviously been ready to dole them out before his sudden tardy entrance.

"Umm, I forgot to charge it last night?" He gave her his best puppy dog look, hoping it would lessen the anger directed towards him. He could see Riley rolling her eyes from across the table and chose to ignore her.

"Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where Nick had just smacked him, and noticed Catherine crack a small smile. Giving her his infamous – and infectious – grin, he took advantage of the small window of opportunity. "I'm really sorry, Catherine. I just didn't think it would take that long to fix and lost track of time."

He ran his hand through his hair and straightened his shirt. He imagined that they'd noticed he was even more disheveled than usual, and paired with his lateness, probably blame it on a hangover or something equally as irresponsible.

Catherine's eyes lingered on his for a few heartbeats more than he was comfortable with. He could practically feel her sizing him up and gauging his honesty.

"We'll discuss this later, Greg. " From her tone, he could assume that he'd just unwillingly signed himself up for the next few decomps that fell onto their shift. "For now, you and Riley have a 419 on Elm."

Greg took the small sheet of paper from her and glanced at his partner for the day. Riley was very visibly not impressed with him this evening and possibly wishing she had not been paired with him at all. Great. Another pissed off colleague. Closing his eyes, Greg rubbed his temples. He had tuned out the rest of the assignments after he'd received his, and really just wanted to get on the road. He was tired and ready to get the job done.

As they walked away from the lab and towards the county-issued SUV's, Riley grabbed the keys from his hand. "I don't care what you say. I'm driving tonight."

Greg did not have the energy to fight her on this one, and silently welcomed the opportunity to close his eyes on the ride.

"Fine." He was exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he got more than three uninterrupted hours of sleep. Was it two weeks ago? Longer? He could barely remember the date or what he wore the day before. The days and nights were starting to blend into each other and Greg was not in the mood to make light – or any – conversation with Riley.

He slipped into the passenger seat and closing his eyes, leaned his head against the window. He could practically feel Riley's eyes boring holes into his head before her fingers turned the keys in the ignition.

Greg woke with a start. He hadn't even realized that he was dozing off. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear the hazy veil of sleep from his mind, before opening the door.

Riley shot him a suspicious look. "You okay, Greg?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Alright, but you were mumbling in your sleep." With that, his colleague made a hasty exit from the vehicle and slammed the door behind her.

Crap. With all the issues he'd been dealing with lately, any number of them could have escaped his mouth unintentionally. Groaning, Greg followed Riley to the non-descript apartment building that was evidently housing their latest crime scene.

Vartann was waiting for them at the apartment door. Before lifting the crime scene tape, Riley and Greg prepared to get the quick run-down from the seasoned detective.

"Hey guys. David's already inside." The Detective raised his eyes towards them, briefly glancing at Greg before resting on Riley with a smile.

_Ha_. Greg suppressed a smile. Figures the middle-aged man would take a liking to the newest pretty blonde on the team. He could look all he wanted. Greg was pretty sure that Vartann was much too old for Riley's taste anyway. At least, he hoped he was.

Riley obviously noticed the attention she was receiving as well. She raised her brow and gave Vartann one of those "looks" that Greg was all too familiar with. After working with her for about a year, he felt as though he had a pretty good idea what was going through her head. She was as tough as nails and pretty much wanted to be treated like "one of the guys." Unlike Catherine, she did not use her looks to get ahead in the game, especially with suspects. Greg imagined that if Vartann – or any other cop – were to make and inappropriate comment or move towards her, they would find them selves flat on their back on the ground unexpectedly.

The detective's gaze moved away from the CSI and back to the notes in front of him. "One male D.B. in the living room. Single GSW to the chest. No sign of forced entry. Neighbor called it in when she noticed his door slightly ajar."

"Thanks, Detective." Riley moved towards the door.

"I'll have an officer posted out here while I question a couple of the neighbors. I'll catch up with you later."

Nodding, Greg turned to follow Riley. "Thanks."

Both CSI's stood near the front door, assessing the scene before taking any steps to process it. David, as Vartann had mentioned, was kneeling over the victim, checking the liver temp.

Greg let his eyes wander around the room. Despite being a blatantly obvious "bachelor pad," there was nothing visibly out of the ordinary about the apartment. It was small, untidy – but not disgustingly filthy, thank god – and lacked any indication of a feminine touch.

"Hi David." Riley approached the man affectionately nicknamed Super-Dave. Was it Nick or Warrick who had bestowed the name on their quiet and unassuming assistant coroner? He couldn't remember, but just about everyone had picked it up by now.

David looked up to greet the two newcomers then turned back the victim splayed out on the floor in front of him. "Hi guys. Based on the liver temp., he's been dead for about 6 hours." He smiled at Riley and handed her a wallet – most probably recently retrieved from the decedent's back pocket.

Greg moved closer to both of them, setting his kit down by his feet.

With gloved hands, she opened the cracked leather to reveal the victim's driver's license, "Roy Williams, age 43. Based on his I.D. it appears as though this is his apartment."

Without so much as a few words to each other, the two CSI split the scene. Greg had already pulled out his camera and was documenting the body in order for David to expedite its transport to the morgue, and he noticed Riley moving to the outskirts of the room.

It wasn't long before the body was on its way to Doc Robbins, and Greg and Riley were left alone.

"Doesn't seem like a scene for two, does it?" Riley's voice interrupted the silence. "I mean, it's a small place, one victim, and not nearly as messy as it could be."

Greg sat back on his heels and rubbed his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that evening. She was right. Catherine was wasting two able bodies on a scene that he or Riley could easily have tackled on their own. He suspected that Catherine could sense that he wasn't in top form lately and had probably assigned Riley to "babysit" him for the evening. _Shit_. He thought he'd been handling everything relatively well, but now he wasn't so sure.

Making eye contact with Riley, he guessed she'd come to a similar conclusion. He gave her a brief, half-committed smile. "Yeah. But it's not good to question Catherine's motives. Especially not me. I'm lucky she didn't rip my head off for being late again."

Riley chuckled in response. "I was pretty surprised how easy you got off."

They continued in silence, until Riley asked the question he was hoping she wouldn't.

"So why have you been getting in late so often? And don't give me that crap about having a flat tire. I'm not buying it and no one else is either." She shot him a glare that rivaled one of Sara's. "It also doesn't take a CSI to notice that you look like shit lately."

"For the record, I _did_ have a flat tire and it _did_ take me longer to fix than I thought." He returned her glare. "I just forgot that my spare was flat too." He was getting annoyed. He really did not feel like having this conversation right now and would welcome a change in topic.

He noticed a business card lying on the floor directly under where the victim had recently been. Snapping a quick photo, he picked up the card to read the small print. "Hey, got a business card. Longevity Pharmaceuticals. It appears as though the vic was the Sales Manager, but the business address was this apartment."

"That's odd." Riley moved closer to take a look. "I haven't seen anything that resembles pharmaceutical supplies. You?"

"Not yet. But, I did just find what looks to be a stack of invoices." He lifted the papers and placed them in an evidence bag. "Do you want to check out the bedroom while I finish up in here?"

"Sure."

Riley moved towards the back of the apartment while Greg continued to gather whatever evidence he felt could be pertinent to the case. Based on what he'd seen so far, it did not look like this guy had been robbed, nor was their any indication of forced entry. However, there were a number of papers on the floor near to where the victim's body was found and other small indications that there may have been an argument. All the items appeared to be linked to Longevity Pharmaceuticals, which led him to believe that perhaps the murder was related to his business.

He bagged most of the related items, as well as printed and bagged the guy's laptop, to take back to the lab. As he was finishing up, he heard Riley yell in the background.

"Bingo! Got a gun!"

He found her in the bathroom, holding the dripping wet handgun up between two fingers. Noting the open toilet tank he rolled his eyes and opened a plastic evidence bag for her.

"Original, huh?" Riley placed the gun inside the bag and took it from him. "Never fails to surprise me how stupid some people are. Like we wouldn't look in the tank." She shook her head in false amazement.

Greg just grinned in response. "Thank god for the stupid ones. They make this job that much easier." He noted her pile of bags next to her kit. "You just about done back here?"

"Yup. Almost."

Greg helped Riley gather up her bags before moving back to his pile in the living room. While the weight of fatigue had left him for the short time they processed the scene, the effects of countless sleepless nights became evident as he trudged down the stairs to the waiting SUV. He couldn't wait to get back to the lab and inhale a large cup of coffee before settling down to analyze what they'd collected.


	2. Chapter 2: Paper Trails

**Author's Note:**** Special thanks to HappyHarper13 for reviewing and editing this story.**

**Before I begin the next chapter, I believe I owe someone a heartfelt apology. **

**Detective Vartann, I do apologize for the way in which you were portrayed in the first chapter. Under no condition did I mean to imply that you were creepy or predatory. On the contrary, I made the assumption that an attractive older gentleman like you would prefer to look at a pretty blonde woman over a (sexy) former lab rat. I do hope you can forgive my insensitivity.**

**Chapter Two: Paper Trails**

Greg handed Riley a cup of fresh coffee. It was the usual break room sludge, but it was all they had tonight. He slipped into the chair opposite hers. Setting his mug on the table, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. This act did not go unnoticed by Riley, nor by Nick, who was sitting on the sofa across the room.

"What the hell is going on with you, man?" Nick was not one to mince words. "You've been completely off for a few weeks and it's just not like you to be late for shift so often."

Greg groaned. "Not you too, Nicky." Riley had been on his case the entire drive back from their crime scene, trying to needle information out of him. She had refused to tell him what he'd mumbled in his sleep until he agreed to spill the beans on what was keeping him awake after shift.

"I'm just having a really hard time sleeping right now. Not to mention my stupid car, which seems to think I appreciate flat tires on a regular basis."

"Listen, if you had something going on in your personal life, you need to leave it at home. We're not blind, Greg. It's obvious that there is something going on with you, and, whatever it is, it's messing you up here too." Leaning closer to Greg, Nick continued. "You're lucky Ecklie hasn't seen you come in late, yet. He'd have your ass."

Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, Greg glared directly at Nick. "My personal life has _no_ impact on my performance." He was starting to feel cornered and he resented the implications of Nick's words.

"I can count on _one hand_ the number of times I've been late this month."

He generally kept his emotions in check at work, and he'd been through a hell of a lot worse than he was dealing with now, but the combination of exhaustion and being lectured by his friend was making him a lot angrier than he felt he could contain.

His chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as he pushed back in frustration. Standing to leave, he paused to turn to Riley. "I'll be in Layout Room 3 when you're ready to go through the evidence." With that, he turned his back on his colleagues.

Rather than head directly to the layout room, Greg found himself in the men's bathroom. Leaning against the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. _Shit_. He looked like hell _and_ felt like hell. No wonder people were giving him a hard time. The dark circles beneath his eyes looked like they were etched into his skin and his pallor was beyond pale.

Even his short cropped hair had a mind of its own today. Not long after the Demetrious James incident, he'd decided to cut it short -- much shorter than he'd had in years. He'd been telling himself that he did it because he wanted to be respected amongst his peers in both the Lab and the Police Department as a whole. It was hard to exude any air of maturity when his hair stuck up out of his head in wild, yet highly choreographed, multi-colored spikes.

In reality, he felt the more mature hairstyle reflected his subdued personality. The "incident," as he referred to it, scared him shitless. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit to wanting to blend in more. His previous hairstyles made him hard to miss, and Greg was not interested in sticking out any more than was necessary. Three years ago, his face was synonymous with the death of a college kid and the subsequent settlement with the James family. Thankfully, without constant reminders, the average person would soon forget the details of the case. Unfortunately for him, he would never shake the memories of that fateful night, and he got to relive the experience every year around this time. Greg did not need some random stranger pointing him out as "that guy who hit and killed that kid" in public.

Splashing water on his face, Greg sighed. He was not the kind of guy to lash out at his colleagues and friends. The only time he could even remember snapping at someone was shortly after Sara left. He hadn't meant to be that rude to Grissom, but his former supervisor had caught him at a bad time (after a rough case), and he still blamed the older man for his friend's departure.

Greg took one last look in the mirror before straightening his shoulders and heading to the layout room. There was no way he was going to let them think that he was shirking his responsibilities at work. Even deep in the throes of a triple shift, he was always able to fight off the weight of exhaustion. He would not let a few sleepless night affect the quality of his work, and he _would_ prove Nick wrong.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Two hours later, Greg found himself elbow-deep in papers and other evidence pulled from the deceased's apartment. He had the victim's laptop open in front of him and was scrolling through an Excel file of names and addresses. Earlier, he'd noticed that the invoices found with the body, matched the address list on the computer. A potential client list perhaps? What was throwing him for a loop, was the lack of merchandise. If this guy was running a pharmaceutical business through his home, surely there would be some evidence of the products he was selling? So far, they'd found nothing.

Riley had delivered their prints and samples to the respective lab techs and was digging through a separate pile of papers. They had been working in a somewhat uncomfortable silence for a while, but Greg really didn't feel like being the one to lighten the mood.

"I think I got something." Riley broke the silence. "Almost all the names and addresses I've found are in California -- mostly San Francisco and L.A. -- and in New York City. I found one in Texas also."

"All the invoices I have list those cities too, but not Texas." Greg looked up. "Maybe the inventory is located in Texas and the victim was just the middleman. Took the orders and made sure the products got to the client. Do you have a name with that Texas address?"

"Joe Smith." Riley rolled her eyes. "_That's_ not a common name."

Greg chuckled. Leaning into the laptop monitor, he pulled up another file that looked somewhat promising. "I think I got a list of inventory, but I don't see any product names. It just lists the quantity and whether it's 'raw' or 'processed.' Wow, steep prices for the amount ordered. Maybe this guy is selling illegal drugs camouflaged as prescription meds." He looked up to see Riley heading for the door.

"I'm going to check out the Texas address and see if we can get a hold of Mr. Smith."

Turning back to the laptop, Greg stared intently at the screen. If this guy really was selling illegal drugs, surely he wouldn't be so stupid as to save a list of his clients and their addresses on his computer? No one said criminals were smart, but, at this point in time, their victim was still the victim. Without any evidence to the contrary, they couldn't label him a criminal; yet.

Sometimes, delving into the details of a victim's life could prove to be a crucial part of solving the crime. While he didn't doubt they'd found something of value, it was time to move on to something that could lead to a possible suspect. While Riley looked in to the whereabouts of one Mr. Joe Smith, Greg decided to see what their victim, Mr. Williams, had hidden in his personal records. Not the most glamorous of tasks, but a necessary one. He'd start with phone, bank and credit records and hope that something would produce a lead. Maybe a link to someone who had a grudge or a motive for shooting the guy.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Grabbing his recently recharged phone from the table next to him, Greg stood up to stretch his legs. His arduous search through a lengthy paper trail had exposed a piece of remotely located property that could provide some answers to their current case. He needed to find Riley and possibly round up a few officers to take an impromptu road trip. First, he wanted to see if Mandy had managed to match any of the prints they'd pulled from the apartment.

He found the finger print lab tech hunched over a table with her eye pressed up against the magnifying lens. As a former tech, he knew how easy it was to surprise someone when they were completely engrossed in their task at hand. He knocked on the door frame before entering the room.

"Mandy, my favorite fingerprint analyst, have you got anything for me yet?" Greg smiled as she looked up at him.

"Jesus, Greg. You look like shit," she stated as she placed her hand on her hips and gave him a quick once-over. "Word around here is that you've been a little snippy today, but no one mentioned that you resembled the walking dead."

"Gee, thanks for the compliment. Nothing like hearing you look like a zombie from your co-workers. That 'word' wouldn't happen to have come from Hodges, would it?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one. Hodges was notorious for knowing every little piece of gossip and rumor that floated around the lab, before anyone else. The man was worse than a gaggle of thirteen year old girls.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "You didn't hear if from me, but Hodges has been going around trying to find out what's got "your panties in a bunch.'" Lifting her hands in defense, she added "his words, not mine. I think he overheard your argument with Nick earlier. Plus, Henry says you almost flattened him on the way in this evening."

"Crap. I forgot about Henry. I meant to apologize to him."

"Don't worry. You know Henry. Unlike Hodges, he won't hold it against you."

She gave Greg a quick wink and he groaned in response. He and Hodges had gotten off to a bad start Hodges' first week at the LVPD crime lab. How was he supposed to know that the new Trace technician couldn't take a joke? Ever since then, the tech had thought nothing of pointing out Greg's mistakes and poor judgment calls in front of their supervisor. While they had been on better terms lately -- well, ever since Nick's unfortunate experience underground -- Hodges was still a know-it-all brown-noser who liked to prove that he was a far superior scientist than anyone else in the lab. Of course it was mostly for show, and they all knew it, but he was still far too nosey for his own good.

"Plus, it wasn't an argument. Hodges needs to get his facts straight." Hoping to get the conversation away from him and back onto fingerprints, Greg leaned over the table and pointed to the one Mandy had been examining when he first entered the room. "That one of mine?"

"No. That one's from Nick's far more exciting case involving a stripper, a prostitute and a group of nudist tourists. Um, sorry, that's a group of 'naturalist'" tourists." Smiling, she wiggled her brows and pointed to another table. "Those are your prints over there."

"What did you find? Anything that could break our case?"

"Hardly. Most of the prints you brought in matched the victim, Roy Williams. Makes sense since it _is_ his apartment, but I did get one unidentified print."

"Really? Anything --"

Before he could continue, she interrupted him. "And the unidentified print just happens to match the print I so expertly salvaged off of your water-logged gun." Bowing in mock self-appreciation, Mandy laughed. "Now you just need to get me someone to match it to."

"Mandy, you truly are a fingerprinting goddess," he exclaimed as he headed out of the fingerprint lab. With his luck, Hodges probably overheard him and was off to start a new rumor that he and Mandy were sleeping together. Not that she wasn't an attractive woman, but she wasn't exactly his type and he was pretty sure he wasn't her type either.

Speaking of attractive women, he needed to find Riley, pick up a warrant, and head out to the address he discovered earlier. Since the property was listed as being owned by the deceased, he didn't anticipate any problems obtaining the search warrant.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The sky had turned a soft hazy orange by the time they managed to get the warrant, a black and white escort and themselves on the road. The property they were headed towards was a fair distance outside of Vegas in Boulder City. Again, Greg gave up the keys to the SUV and took his spot in the passenger seat. Unlike during his previous drive with Riley, Greg was alert and in somewhat of a better mood. It didn't hurt that they'd managed to grab a bite to eat before hopping in the vehicle.

They'd been on the road for over an hour when they turned onto an unmarked, winding path leading to a secluded area. In the distance, Greg could just make out what appeared to be a warehouse of sorts. Thank goodness it was morning. This was the kind of scene that horror movies were made of. While he didn't consider himself to be afraid of things that went bump in the night, it didn't mean he preferred creepy dark buildings to those that were well-lit.

They pulled up to the building in succession -- first the black and white, then the lab-issued SUV. The area in front of the address was just a large patch of dirt, perfect for cars but not much else. While there was no indication of any other car or person in the area, the police officers and CSI's were not going to take any chances. Per protocol, the two officers, Andrews and Jefferson, approached the building first, with the warrant.

Greg and Riley followed closley behind, each carrying their own kit and ready to set to work. With no response to the knock on the door or the police call of identification, the officers drew their guns and entered to clear the premises.

Greg watched as the two men entered in front of them, and waited patiently for the 'all-clear.' He took the opportunity to scan what little of the interior he could see from where he was standing. It appeared as though the building was one large room. He could barely make out a few doors towards the rear, but the place appeared to fit the needs of the victim's pharmaceutical business.

It did not take long for the officers to clear the scene. As they exited the building, Jefferson issued the 'all-clear' to the waiting CSI's.

Officer Andrews, the smaller of the two men, bumped purposefully into Greg as he passed, and muttered under his breath, "Wouldn't want the killer to get hurt, would we?"

Greg was pretty sure he heard the man correctly, but bit his tongue in silence. He knew exactly what Andrews was referring to, but he refused to react. Riley, on the other hand, could not keep quiet. Greg immediately noticed the hardness in her eyes as she addressed the officer.

"What did you say?"

Pointing at Greg, the officer sneered. "I said we wouldn't want the little killer to get hurt, would we? He's not so tough outside of his car. Needs a girl to protect him now."

Before Riley could respond, Greg grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He stepped in to take her place directly in front of the outspoken man.

"This is not the time or place for this discussion, Andrews. Do your job and stay out of our way." With that, Greg turned to enter the building. It had been a while since he'd had to deal with this kind of outburst from people he worked with, but he'd dealt with it often enough over the past three years that he'd learned how to keep his anger in check.

"Just remember, Sanders. Not all of us have forgotten what you did. You left a black mark on the department, and some of us think you should've paid for killing that kid." The officer turned his back on Greg and walked slowly towards his partner.

Sighing, Greg tried to relax his shoulders and hung his head. He did not need this right now. He needed to keep his head on straight and his anger in check. He was perfectly aware of the date. October 12th. Three years ago today, he got his ass kicked by a ruthless gang of juvenile thugs. Three years ago, he hit a kid with his car. Three years ago tomorrow, that kid had died.

Straightening up, he resolved to not let the officer's comments get to him or to distract him from the task at hand. There would be plenty of time later to obsess over his life-altering decision and the subsequent repercussions. He couldn't seem to get away from it lately and he was certain it would haunt his sleep again this afternoon.

As he went to step further into the warehouse, he caught Riley staring at him. It was no longer a questioning look. Rather, she seemed to have made a somewhat belated realization.

"I didn't mean to."

"What?" Greg was confused. "You didn't mean to what?"

"No. That's what you were muttering over and over in your sleep on the way to the first scene." Riley tilted her head at him. "I didn't know what you were talking about then. I think I do now."

"Oh." He didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he just started walking, pulling his kit with him. He stopped when he felt her hand lightly touch his arm.

"You sure you're okay?"

Shrugging her hand off, he mumbled, "I'm fine. Let's just get to work." He really didn't feel like having a heart-to-heart conversation with Riley that was sure to rival a Lifetime made-for-TV-movie. He'd been able to keep his emotions in check – for the most part – after the 'incident,' and there was no reason to have them run amok now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg could see Riley staring at him. He knew she wanted to discuss the matter further but also that she understood his position. Over the course of the year she'd been with the LVPD crime lab, Riley had not been very forthcoming about her personal life and had been strictly business during work hours.

"Fine." She turned away from him and Greg released the breath he never knew he was holding.

The both stood in silence, eyes taking in the layout of the building and the items it held. It appeared to be one very large room. At the back, they could see a row of industrial-sized chest freezers, and around the perimeter, many cardboard packing boxes. The center of the room appeared to house a variety of equipment that one would generally find in a chemistry lab, as well as a healthy selection of power tools. Greg and Riley exchanged an amused look, and set to work.


	3. Chapter 3: Of Flesh and Bones

**Chapter Three: Of Flesh and Bones**

"I've got some white powder," Greg stated, scraping the material into a small brown envelope.

"Cocaine?" Riley responded from the other end of the warehouse.

"Nope. Negative for cocaine. Not any identifiable illegal drug." Greg put the test paper into his vest pocket and reached into the appliance in front of him. He pulled a small white item from the back of what appeared to be a drying oven. "I think I just found a piece of bone."

"What?"

"I think I just found some small pieces of bone in here. Plus, I think this other piece of equipment is a bone grinder."

He was perplexed and intrigued at the same time. They'd come to the warehouse hoping to find something that would provide insight into the murder of Roy Williams, but instead were finding a new mystery to solve. They were still waiting a call back from Riley's contact at the Dallas Police Department regarding the identity and whereabouts of Joe Smith, but, in the meantime, the case was getting more and more _interesting_.

"Riley, I've got some unidentified white powder, which I'm now guessing is crushed bone, an array of drying machines and a grinder." He looked up at his partner. "I've also got empty pill capsules and bottles. Maybe this guy was running some sort of drug trafficking business and one of his clients wasn't impressed with the merchandise."

"I don't know, Greg. This is really weird." Riley turned to face him and lifted a glove hand to get a closer look at what she held with her tweezers. "I think I just found some fur."

Greg walked towards the giant freezer chest that Riley had just opened, and peered inside. Besides a few tufts of what appeared to be black fur, the freezer was empty. He gave her a lopsided grin.

"Care to run this one, Riley?"

Returning his smile, Riley placed the "fur" in an evidence bag. "I don't even know where to begin right now."

They continued to gather any items that could provide clues as to why their victim had ended up dead in his apartment, along with his apparent "merchandise" cleared from the warehouse. They hadn't been there long before Greg started to notice a slight change in the air.

"Riley, do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"Oh god." He just realized what it was. "Riley, grab as much as you can and get the hell out of here."

"What?" She didn't move, just looked questioningly at Greg.

"I smell gas. I think there's a gas leak. Get out of here NOW!"

They both grabbed as many of their accumulated evidence bags as they could and raced for the door.

"Get back!" Greg screamed to the officers as they started to move towards the CSI's. "This place is going to explode!"

They had barely cleared the area where the vehicles were parked before the building exploded. The ground shook and they were thrown face-first into the dirt; debris raining down on them and everything around them.

Greg just laid there, eyes closed and stunned. He could feel the heat of the fire behind him and smell the undeniable stench of burning wood. For the briefest moment, he could feel the pull of burned flesh across his back and the excruciating pain that went with it. Greg forced his eyes to open. The scene immediately changed from that of the destroyed chemistry lab to the dusty lot in front of their latest crime scene.

He blinked, willing his vision to clear. Slowly, his eyes began to focus. He could see both police officers who had taken cover behind their squad car and Riley just a few yards away from him. Pushing himself to his knees, Greg shakily stood and stumbled towards where she lay. He sighed in relief when she moved, and extended his hand to help her into a seated position.

His ears were ringing and his head throbbed. He remembered the garbled sounds and constant ringing he experienced right after the lab explosion, and knew that it would not last long. He could see Riley's mouth moving, but could barely make out what she was saying to him. Greg knew that he needed to focus on her, but the vision of flames rapidly consuming the building was distracting.

"Greg!"

"Huh?" He heard his name clearly that time. The ringing was starting to subside.

"I've been calling you. You okay?" Riley looked at him, worried about his lack of focus.

"Sorry. My ears are ringing. It's getting better."

Greg smiled as Riley tried to dust off her clothes and wipe her face. Her feeble attempts were futile and she just succeeded in further smearing the soot and dirt onto her cheeks, leaving them dirtier than before. "How about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Nothing a long, hot shower and a lot of soap can't fix."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both police officers on their feet. Andrews was currently on the radio – calling for back up – and Jefferson was walking towards them.

"Sanders! Riley! Are either of you hurt?" Jefferson looked genuinely concerned for the two CSI's -- a contrast to his partner's position earlier. "Andrew's is calling for back up. The Boulder City fire department should be here in ten minutes. He's also putting a call in to the LVPD."

"We're fine, Officer Jefferson." Riley responded. "Thanks to Greg, we're all okay."

The three of them stared intently at the blazing flames, listening for the arrival of the local fire engines and law enforcement.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Greg and Riley had spent their "downtime" wisely. While they could not enter the building until it had been cleared, they could go through the evidence they'd managed to salvage before the place exploded. To his relief, Greg found that they'd managed to pull out a large portion of their evidence bags. He still had the white powder, bone fragments, some finger prints, pill bottles and empty capsules, as well as some papers. Riley had grabbed as much as he had, and her rescued evidence included the apparent "fur" from the freezer.

As they'd loaded their belongings into the back of the vehicle, Greg had noticed his hands starting to shake again. While he was slightly concerned about the return of this side effect from the lab explosion, he was not going to let it get the best of him. It had to just be the adrenaline and nerves from the excitement. It was _not_ going to last more than a few hours. The two CSI's sat silently and patiently in the back of their SUV, back door raised and legs dangling down.

As the firefighters extinguished the last of the flames and the fire marshal cleared the scene, the remaining members of the graveyard shift parked their vehicle next to the emergency crews. Despite the time – and the end of their shift – Catherine, Nick and Ray had come along with the Day Shift CSIs assigned to the case, to offer their assistance.

Greg and Riley hopped down from their perch and waited for their colleagues to reach them. All three came prepared with their kits and dressed in their lab-issued blue overalls.

"Quite some excitement this morning. You two okay?" Catherine placed her hand on Greg's forearm and gave it a slight squeeze.

"We're fine, Catherine." Riley glanced at Greg before looking at the older woman. "Your shift's over. You still want to process the scene?"

"Yeah well, we figured it was going to be a long one, so we enlisted some of the Day Shift to help out. Wouldn't want them stealing the spotlight on your current case, would we?" Nick gave Riley a playful nudge.

"We managed to get a lot of stuff out before the, you know, giant fireball of destruction." Greg grinned, pointing to their pile of evidence. "I think we are still good to go on our original purpose for coming all the way out here. This just adds a whole new dimension to a single murder in a Vegas apartment."

"Have you spoken to the Fire Marshal yet? Any indication of what caused this?" Catherine was ready to get the ball moving and appropriately assign her team to the large processing task ahead.

"We spoke to him right before you guys arrived. There are indications that the gas line has been tampered with. Probably cut. Hopefully we'll be able to get some prints off of that."

"If the line was cut, the Fire Marshal estimated that it'd take several hours before the building filled up to cause such a large explosion." Riley added. "We aren't sure what caused the gas to ignite yet. But hopefully we'll find it."

"Alright. Let's get to work." Catherine assigned each team member their role for the task at hand. Before Greg could walk away, she grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Seriously, Greg. Are you okay?" Greg knew exactly what Catherine was asking but not saying. As she was deemed responsible for the lab explosion, she still felt the full weight of guilt about his injuries; both physical and psychologically. While he'd never told her of his shaking hands, and Grissom was the only one to bring it up, he knew she'd noticed.

"I'm fine, Catherine. I promise. Just a little shaken up. Nothing to worry about." He gave her a half smile, before turning towards the charred remains of their building.

The process had been slow, but with the whole team plus part of Days working together, they completed their task in record time. It was nearing noon by the time they were ready to pack up, and Greg was dripping with sweat. The Vegas sun could be brutal, regardless of the season. He had just closed the trunk of the truck when Vartann walked over to join him.

"Sorry to show up so late, Sanders. I couldn't get away from the undersheriff this morning." He gave Greg a light thump on the shoulder."

"Hey, Detective. No problem." Greg wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, the dirt and grime clinging to the soiled material. "You want to wrack our brains about this?" He gestured towards the blackened building.

"Yeah. I'd rather talk to you both at the same time though. Is Riley around?"

Before Greg could respond, Riley peered out from the other side of the car. "I'm here, Detective."

"Great. You guys see anyone hanging around the site when you got here? Maybe another vehicle?"

"No. No one," Greg responded. "I don't even think another car passed us on the dirt road in."

"I didn't see anyone either."

"Anything out of the ordinary; other than the gas leak?"

Shrugging, Greg answered the detective. He knew they didn't have much to go on. "Not really. I mean, the case is getting a bit odd and we found some interesting things in there, but nothing worth torching the place over. We really just came out here with a search warrant hoping it could lead to a suspect for the Williams case."

Greg looked over at Riley and saw her glaring back at him. He could tell by that look that he wasn't going to like what was about to come out of her mouth.

"Detective Vartann, Officer Andrews was giving Greg a hard time this morning. If it turns out that the building took less time to fill with gas than the fire marshal estimates, then I'd seriously bring him in for questioning." Crossing her arms across her chest, Riley shot Greg a look that just dared him to counter her statement. He knew that look and was _not_ taking the bait.

"What do you mean, 'a hard time'?" Vartann responded to Riley's statement, but turned to address Greg.

"It's not a big deal. Nothing new, anyway," Greg shrugged. "He called me a killer." He refused to make eye contact with the detective. Instead, he gazed off towards the rest of the team as they packed their vehicle. After three years, the label of "killer" still hurt and he didn't want the older man to see the emotion in his eyes. "Demetrius James died three years ago tomorrow. He was just reminding me that people haven't forgotten."

Detective Vartann gave Greg a hard look. Knowing how officers would react to the mere suggestion, he paused before he asked his next question. "You think Andrews could have tampered with the gas line? You think he wants you dead?"

"No!" Greg glared at Riley, angry that she'd brought the subject up in front of the seasoned detective. "I don't think he'd go as far as attempted murder. Does he hate me? Probably. Does he wish I'd died that day? Maybe. But I don't think he had anything to do with this."

Greg turned back to Vartann. "Are we done?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to you at the station if I have any other questions." He gave both CSI's a slight smile before walking away. "I'm glad you're both okay."

Greg gave him a half wave before addressing his partner. "What the hell, Riley? You _know_ that Andrews couldn't have done that. If he finds out that it even came up in conversation, he's going to make our lives miserable."

Riley just gave him a hard stare back. "You shouldn't let him get away with threatening you like that." She moved towards the truck, pulling herself into the driver's seat. "Plus, no piece of information is too small to dismiss. How do you know that he wasn't planning to have you killed? He seemed pretty angry to me."

Greg muttered under his breath, "If you knew how many people had threatened me, you would have placed me in protective custody a long time ago," and climbed into the passenger seat.

The drive back to the lab was uneventful and eerily quiet. Both CSI's were simmering in anger, neither one wanting to apologize to the other. Riley finally broke the silence.

"So, what did Catherine want?"

"What do you mean?" He couldn't remember Catherine asking him for anything before they left.

"When she pulled you back before we started processing the remains of the building. What did she want?"

"Oh, that. She wanted to make sure I was okay. You know, making sure I wasn't suffering some sort of reaction because of the lab explosion." He went back to staring out the window, thankful that they were no longer on the topic of Officer Andrew's earlier statements.

"Woah. What lab explosion?" She gave him a quick look of confusion, before turning back to the road in front of her.

Greg groaned in response. He was pretty sure that _everybody_ knew about that accident. He'd just assumed that Riley and Ray both knew by now.

"Is this 'drudge up bad memories for Greg' day? I assumed they'd added a new section to the new staff orientation manual years ago. How not to blow up the lab and the DNA tech along with it." He tried to laugh at his comment, but it came out sounding more like a grunt.

"Seriously, Greg. What happened?"

"Fine." He knew he had no choice but to answer her question. " Some evidence was placed in the fume hood next to a heating element. Turns out that the heating element was on. I just happened to be in there when it finally ignited and I was thrown through the glass window. It was not an experience I'd like to repeat, but we did get a state-of –the-art chem lab thanks to the insurance pay-out."

Greg rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat. He'd completely glossed over the fact that he'd suffered bad burns to his back and neck and had spent way too much time in the hospital waiting to heal. He'd also failed to mention that the lab explosion had been one of many reasons why he'd been so eager to move into the field.

"You must have been badly hurt. I mean, why else would Catherine be so concerned about the effect this incident would have on you?" She gave him a look that indicated that she knew he'd left key information out.

"She just feels guilty. She was the one who left the stuff in the fume hood and was blamed for the explosion. Can we talk about something else, please?" He was tired, dirty, and hungry and really did not like this topic any more than talking about Andrews.

"Fine."

Again, they drove in silence towards the lab.

Under strict orders by Catherine to go home as soon as possible, they checked their evidence in and headed out to their personal vehicles.

"Hey Greg!" Riley yelled at him from several cars down, "Don't be late tonight!"

"Ha ha. Funny, Adams." He responded, and slipped behind the wheel. Greg could imagine the hot shower he was going to take, and his soft warm bed. The day had been long and eventful, and he was ready to put it behind him.

_**Author's end notes: I'm claiming artistic licensing on this chapter (and any other related to the gas explosion). I'm skeptical that what I've written is correct, so just pretend I am for the story's sake.**_


	4. Chapter 4: Red as Blood

**Chapter 4: Red as Blood**

_What the hell?_ Greg paused at the top of the stairwell of his complex, staring at the front door to his apartment. Cautiously, he moved closer, eyes scanning the hallway for anyone witnessing his arrival and especially for anyone he didn't recognize. There, embedded in the cheap wood door, was a knife. A _big_ knife. _His_ knife! At least he was pretty sure it was from the set in his kitchen.

Not only was there a big fucking knife in his door, but the door was unlocked and slightly ajar. _Shit!_ Pushing the door open further with his foot, Greg quickly scanned the living room. He couldn't hear any movement within the place, nor could he see anyone. While he knew he should step back and place a call to the police, he didn't. Instead, he tentatively entered his apartment.

For the briefest of moments, Greg felt as though he could not catch a breath. His living room was trashed. The books, DVD's, and CD's he had neatly organized on his bookshelves were strewn across the floor. The coffee table was lying on its side, drawers emptied onto the floor. His comfy, well-worn sofa was now destroyed. Foam and fluff from the cushions were distributed around the room. From its current state, he'd bet money that someone had stabbed it repeatedly with a knife. Maybe even the one in his door.

In a panic, Greg realized that he'd left his laptop – his beloved Macbook Pro – lying out on that coffee table. _Shit, shit, shit!_ He dropped to his knees, pushing things aside until he found what he was looking for. His computer, containing his research and papers in various drafts for future publication, was wedged under the sofa. With a huge sigh, he realized that it must have fallen and been overlooked by whoever had decided to destroy his home.

Standing up, Greg looked at the wall to his left. He'd been avoiding it since he first entered the apartment, but there was no way he could look past it now. There in red was the word MURDERER. It took up almost all of the wall's white space and was impossible to miss.

There was no doubt in his mind what the painted red 'message' was referring to, and it certainly was having the desired effect. He was sufficiently concerned that the annual harassment had escalated to a potential threat, and he was freaked out that they, or he, or she, or whomever, had managed to get into his home. Whoever had been making his past few weeks a living hell obviously knew his schedule well enough to show up while he was working.

Greg was certain that the responsible party was no longer in his apartment, but it didn't make him feel any more secure. He moved to assess what damage had been done to the rest of the place. While there was less in the kitchen to rip to shreds, the person who had attacked his apartment had done his or her best to make sure it would take a while to clean up. It appeared that every mug, glass, plate and bowl from his cupboards, was lying broken on the floor and counters.

His bathroom had been left relatively unscathed. KILLER had been written in the mirror with what appeared to be a bar of soap, but nothing else seemed to have been touched. He left the bedroom for last.

Greg wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved or panicked when he entered his bedroom. While the living room had been ripped to shreds, nothing had been touched in this room. Rather, a giant pool of what appeared to be red paint (probably the same that had been used to write on his wall), filled a third of his bed. The sight was disconcerting and was making him feel physically ill.

Greg was not going to call this in – there was no need to draw more attention to himself right now – but he wasn't going to let this lie either. His CSI training kicked in and Greg headed back to his car for his kit. He'd take prints off the knife and hopefully pull something useable, but he did not have false hope that he'd be able to identify the person who had done this.

Before he started, he pulled out his phone and called for a locksmith. There was no way he'd stay in the apartment without changing the locks first. He didn't think whoever had entered his place had any intent to kill him, or otherwise he or she would probably have been there to attack him when he returned home. But he did get the message -- loud and clear. This person was not going to let him forget what day it was. What they failed to realize is that he didn't need an outsider to help remind him.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

After unsuccessfully printing the knife – the perp must have worn gloves – Greg spent a good chunk of time cleaning up the apartment. He swept every broken item into a large garbage bag and placed his belongings back on the shelves.

His bed was a different story. Greg pulled the comforter off the bed and was relieved to see that the paint hadn't soaked into his mattress. Rather than deal with the arduous task of trying to salvage the bedding, he just shoved it in a garbage bag and placed it by the front door with the rest. The locksmith had come and gone in record time, and now, two hours later, he could _finally_ get to shower and sleep.

Peeling off his sweat and dirt covered jeans and shirt, Greg breathed a sigh of relief as he headed towards the bathroom. If he was lucky, he'd still be able to get three or four hours of sleep before he had to be back at work.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Greg woke with a start -- slick with sweat and heart pounding. Dazed, he fumbled for his cell phone charging next to his bed. He flipped it open and placed it to his ear before he realized that it wasn't the phone that had jolted him from his sleep. Greg glanced at the time and was surprised to see that it was 6:59pm. As his shift didn't start until nine o'clock, he had not intended to roll out of bed before seven. Whatever woke him had beaten his alarm by a minute. He rolled over and turned off the alarm before it had a chance to switch on.

As the pounding of his heart subsided, he realized it was being replaced by the sound of someone knocking at his front door. Greg grabbed the top most pair of jeans from his open drawer and pulled them on. As he slipped out the room, he took a clean shirt with him.

Greg peered cautiously through the peephole before opening the door to a grinning Riley.

"Hi. I thought I'd make sure you were up by bringing you some food." She held up a bag of food that smelled incredibly good. "In the mood for a burrito?"

Greg hesitated. His place, while less of a disaster zone than earlier that day, still looked like the victim of a vicious attack. He'd managed to shove some of the foam and stuffing back into his sofa cushions, but he didn't think anyone would ever want to sit on it again. The sofa was the least of his worries. The red 'message' was still screaming at him from the wall. He planned on buying paint to cover the words after the next shift, so he hadn't even bothered to try and scrub it off.

"Greg? Are you going to let me in?"

Greg realized that he was going to have to explain to her what was going on. Keeping her from entering his apartment was going to raise a red flag, and she was just going to wear him down with questions anyway. Plus, she had already proven her loyalty to the team and exhibited the fierceness of needing to protect one of her own.

With a sigh, Greg opened the door wider to let Riley in. As she moved into the apartment, he noticed her glance at his back. In his concern over the state of his apartment, he'd forgotten to put the shirt on, and his burn scars were in plain view. Greg quickly pulled the t-shirt over his head and motioned towards the living room. "I'd offer you a seat, but I'm not sure you want to sit on that."

Riley barely even noticed the state of the furniture. Instead she stood motionless, staring at his wall.

With wide eyes, Riley turned to face Greg. "What the hell is going on, Greg? Don't you dare tell me it's 'nothing,' because at this point, I wouldn't believe that if it came out of the Pope's mouth."

"Fine, I'll tell you. Just give me the burrito first." He gave her a feeble smile and held out a hand. If he was going to have to explain the misery of the past few weeks, he'd rather do it on a full stomach. "You want to sit at the kitchen counter? I don't think my sofa can handle the weight of two right now."

Cocking her eyebrow at the state of the couch, Riley agreed, "Kitchen is fine."

They settled onto the bar stools and peeled open the burrito wrappers.

"Sorry about the paper plates. I need to buy some new ones, as well as replacement cups and mugs, a sofa, bedding --" His voice trailed off as he stared at the food in front of him. Suddenly, Greg wasn't hungry anymore.

"Do you want to start with why you have the word 'murderer' painted on your wall, or the reason you've been out of sorts over the past few weeks?"

Greg closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Why was this so hard to talk about?

"This happened last year and the year before too."

"Someone breaks into your house every year?" Riley just about choked on her food. "And you never report it?"

"No, no. It's not like that. Just promise me you won't interrupt me until I'm done. Okay?" Greg looked at her pleadingly and did not continue until he could see that she was going to follow this request.

"Well, I guess you already know about what happened a few years ago. There were these beatings going on. I got involved." He gulped. "And I killed someone." That was three years ago tomorrow. October 13th. Every October, someone always has to remind me that I killed Demetrius James. For the first two weeks in October, someone lets the air out of my tires, constantly calls and never leaves a message. Sometimes, they leave a message outside my front door or on my car hood. It's usually pretty harmless stuff. At the most, it just keeps me up and I don't get any sleep for a few days at a time."

Greg took a bite of his burrito and chewed slowly. He was leaving out much of the detail, but at this point it was irrelevant.

"Last year, someone left a pig heart on my door step. It looked like it had been run over by a car. I'm just lucky that none of my neighbors saw it before I had time to clean it up. The last thing I need is to be evicted from this place.

"So far this year, it's been pretty mild. The constant flat tires are annoying though, and I'm tired."

"That's why you've been late to work."

"Yeah. I was _not_ lying when I said I had a flat. I just had to get the car to the gas station to re-inflate the tires."

"I wouldn't call someone breaking into your house and trashing it mild, Greg." Riley wiped her hands on a paper towel and reached for her soda.

"Me either. I'm not going to lie. It really freaked me out. Still does. This is the first time this person has done anything remotely close to scaring me. They didn't steal anything though, and haven't tried to physically harm me, but it's just the fact that he was able to get into my place. I mean, the door wasn't even busted open. It looked like he used a key."

"You need to report this. Have you told anyone else? Called Catherine or Brass?"

"No. I just need to wait this out. After tomorrow, it'll be over for the next year."

"Stop being such a dumbass, Greg! If you get this guy now, you won't have to deal with this again next year."

He could tell she was getting exasperated, and the rational part of him knew she was right. However, the part of him that would feel forever guilty for making the rash decision to press his foot against the accelerator knew that he deserved this punishment. That he deserved to be treated like a killer.

"I tried to pull prints from the knife, but he must have worn gloves."

"What knife?!" Riley's voice was laced with sudden panic. Gone was the anger and frustration she'd previously radiated.

Shit. He'd forgotten to mention the door. Greg went on to explain the knife he'd found embedded in his front door and the details of his return home from work. If she hadn't been worried before, Riley certainly was now.

"You've _got_ to talk to Brass. This guy is obviously threatening you and escalating from last year. How do you even know it's the same person?"

Greg got up from his seat and Riley followed. He stood in front of his newly painted wall and stared. "I just know."

Just then a loud BANG came from the window. Without a moment's hesitation, Greg threw himself onto Riley, and they crashed to the floor. An image of someone trying to shoot them filled his head and it took a few seconds for him to realize that that was not the case.

Riley stared up at him. "Um, Greg, I think that was just a car backfiring."

"I'm sorry." With an embarrassed smile, he pushed up to kneeling and extended a hand to help her up. "That was awkward."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Riley chuckled. "That was very gallant of you, Greg. You just never know when you are going to need saving from an old jalopy."

Greg glanced at his watch and realized that they needed to get moving in order to make it to work on time. "Thanks, Riley."

"For what?"

"For worrying and listening."

"Anytime. Just promise me you'll talk to Catherine tonight."

"Maybe."

Riley rolled her eyes at him and waited while he grabbed a pair of shoes and socks and quickly got himself ready for work. Greg grabbed his new set of house keys and joined them to his car key. They both headed out towards the parking lot.

"Sonofabitch," Greg muttered under his breath when he caught sight of his car.

"What?" Riley turned to see what he was looking at.

"My tires are slashed." He groaned in frustration, and pounded his fist against the hood. "I don't know how many more of these I can afford to replace right now. God damn it!"

"I'll drive you to work."

"Thanks." Greg walked towards Riley's car and opened the door.

"On one condition. You tell Catherine and Brass what's going on. If you don't, I will," she warned.

"Fine." He knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. "I'll talk to Catherine later."

Greg had a feeling that Catherine was going to react similarly to Riley, and he was probably going to get a serious tongue lashing from the older woman.

**Author's comment:** Seriously, folks? no reviews? no comments? Is this what happens over the summer around here? I have Chapter Five ready to go. I think I'll hold off until at least a few people review. You know, incentive.... ;)


	5. Chapter 5: Predator vs Prey

**Chapter 5: Predator vs. Prey**

Riley and Greg hadn't had time to follow up on their evidence after they had returned to the lab earlier that day. As their samples had time to run while they were home, it was top priority for the new shift. Greg slammed his locker closed and set off to the trace lab to see if Hodges had any news on the white substance.

He managed to shake off the feeling that people were giving him side glances as he walked down the hallway towards Hodges' lab. He was just paranoid. It was all in his head. At least that's what he kept hoping he'd start to believe. He paused suddenly when he heard his name.

From the doorway, he could see that Riley had made it to trace before him and had obviously engaged the self-righteous tech in conversation, which had turned to the topic of one Greg Sanders. Neither Hodges nor Riley had noticed his arrival, and Hodges continued to speak as though he wasn't there.

"So, I hear Sanders got himself into the middle of another explosion. Can't seem to stay away from the flames. Hopefully this one hasn't destroyed the last bit of personality he has left." Hodges looked up from the machine he was fiddling with to look at Riley.

"Really? Greg used to have more personality?" She appeared vaguely amused.

"The lab explosion and the -- you know -- beating, seem to have cost him about 90 percent of his personality – not that I'm complaining. I kind of like the new Greg more than the old Greg. Just wouldn't want him to lose the last 10 percent." Hodges paused for a minute and Greg was almost certain he would be noticed at the door. Surprisingly, the tech continued. "Don't tell him, but I kind of miss the wild hair, crazy shirts and wacky lab antics. Now, he's just another boring CSI. Just another drone. That's why I never want to go out in the field. I'd prefer to stay myself, thank you very much."

"And we'd prefer you stay in the lab too, Hodges," Greg grinned and stepped into the room. His grin deepened when he saw Hodges turn a slight shade of pink. "So glad you're concerned about me though."

Riley tried to hide her laugher, but didn't succeed.

"Anything on our samples, yet?" Greg glanced at the piece of paper that Riley was holding.

"Like I was telling your colleague here" – Hodges gestured towards Riley -- "what you brought me was biological. I kicked it back to Wendy. Now, if you don't have anything else for me, there's the door." He pointed towards the exit and turned his back on the two CSIs.

"Thanks for your help, Hodges. My remaining 10 percent of personality appreciates it. The other 90 percent still thinks you're an ass." Greg quickly moved for the door before Hodges had a chance to throw something at him.

Riley smacked Greg lightly on the arm. "You're mean, Sanders."

"He was asking for it," Greg chuckled in response.

"Hey, he was showing concern in his own way."

Greg snorted, holding back laughter. "You're actually right about that. Too bad that's about as deep as he gets."

"You speak to Catherine yet?"

"Riley, we just got here. I haven't even _seen_ Catherine yet." He rolled his eyes at her and continued toward the evidence locker. "Let's just get our evidence and start going through what we've got until Wendy pages us."

"Fine, but you're not shirking this one, Greg."

"I'll speak to her later tonight." He stopped and turned to Riley. "I promise."

"I'll hunt you down if you don't, Sanders."

"I know you will. Now let's get to work."

The two CSI's settled into a room and surrounded themselves with papers, photos, and other extraneous materials brought in from both crime scenes. Not long after they'd gotten comfortable, Riley got a call from her contact within the Dallas Police Department.

"CSI Adams." Her greeting was short, to the point, and mirrored the way all the other LVPD crime scene investigators answered their phones.

Greg's phone followed suit, immediately ringing.

"Wendy," he mouthed to Riley, and slipped out the room. "Hey Wendy, I'll be right there."

He headed towards his former lab to see what the DNA tech had to share. It must be something good for her to call him instead of waiting for him to come by on his own.

"Whatcha got?" Greg didn't even bother to announce himself and waited for Wendy to turn and face him.

"I think you and Riley win the 'weird sample of the day' award." She gave him a curious half smile.

"_Really_?" While Greg had been the master of drawing out his presentations of results, he wasn't as patient on the receiving end. Leaning closer, he tried to snatch the paper from Wendy's hands.

"Not so fast, Greggo. This is my lab now. We do things my way." She laughed at his feeble attempt at a pout. "The white powder was ground up bone."

"Ha. I knew it." Greg grinned and reached for the paper again.

"That's not the weird part. The powdered bone, and the small piece you gave me, were not human."

"Okay –" He was starting to get a little more confused.

"I ran the DNA through the database. It's _tiger_ bone. From _multiple_ donors. The fur you submitted is _also_ tiger fur."

"Tigers? Like the circus and zoo animals?"

"Yes, tigers."

"Huh. " He turned around, taking the results paper with him. "Thanks, Wendy."

"Hey, Greg!" She shouted at him as he hastily made his way down the hall.

Greg stopped. "Yeah?"

"Let me know where this one goes, okay? Call it 'professional interest.'"

"I'll be sure to tell you before Hodges." She laughed in return and he continued on.

Instead of heading back to Riley and the evidence they were supposed to be combing through, Greg made his way straight for the computer lab. He had a hunch about this one. Something about this sounded vaguely familiar and he needed to do a bit of research online before presenting it to Riley, or to anyone else for that matter.

"Hey, I've been looking for you."

Greg looked up to see Riley leaning on the door frame. A quick glance at the time on his phone indicated that he'd been sitting in front of the computer for a couple of hours, and his eyes were having a hard time adjusting.

"Sorry. I got the results back from Wendy and I needed to check on a few things." He rubbed his eyes and pulled his body to standing. "What did your friend in Texas have to say?" He reached over to grab a stack of paper sitting in the printer and joined Riley at the door.

"He called in a favor and had someone check on Joe Smith's address. No one home, of course, so he spoke to some neighbors."

"Yeah? Anything useful?" Greg motioned towards the break room, and the two started walking while talking.

"Maybe. Turns out this guy doesn't spend much time at home. Neighbors say he's always traveling for business. What _is_ of interest is that we managed to get his car make, model and license plate number from the Texas DMV _and_ he recently got a speeding ticket here in Vegas."

"How recent is recent?"

"How about two days ago?" Riley grinned at him and entered the room. "Vartann managed to find out where he's staying and is bringing him in for questioning." She reached into the cabinet and grabbed two mugs. Checking to make sure that neither of them was too cracked, she handed one to Greg.

"What did you get?" With the empty mug, Riley pointed to the sheets of paper that Greg had placed on the table.

Greg grabbed the pot of coffee and poured them each a cup before placing it back in the coffee maker for the next caffeine addict and pulling out a chair for Riley. "I've been doing a bit of research."

"On what?" She sat down next to him and reached for the print-outs.

Grabbing them away from her, Greg continued. "Wendy ran the powder, bone, and the fur you pulled, and it turns out they all belong to tigers."

"Tigers." She looked at him in surprise. "You're serious?"

"Yup. So, the tiger bone plus the fact that the victim had a pharmaceutical business reminded me of a case that Warrick had a few years back. It had to do with a guy mauled by a bear – one not native to Las Vegas – and a missing bear gall bladder." He looked up at her to see her reaction. He was finding this case more and more interesting, and he could tell that Riley was too.

She leaned in closer to Greg, "And what does a bear with a missing gall bladder have to do with our crushed tiger bone and dead pharmaceutical rep.?"

"Turns out that bear bile, and the bear's gall bladder, are highly valuable for use in traditional Chinese medicine. So, I thought what if the bones of tigers were equally valuable." Greg pushed the papers in front of Riley.

She picked them up and flipped through them slowly. "This says that tiger bone is used to treat arthritis and rheumatism. It is also believed to strengthen the immune system, reduce pain and reduce inflammation. It is most often found in pill or paste form." She looked up at him, and Greg could see her making the connections to their case and evidence.

"So, you're thinking that our victim, Roy Williams, was in the business of selling tiger products for the traditional Chinese medicine market?"

"The _black_ market, and yes." Pointing to one of the documents on the table, Greg continued. "The Rhino and Tiger Product Labeling Act makes it illegal to sell any medicine that claims to contain parts of either species. Add to that the fact that there is an international agreement between countries – called CITES – which bans the trade of the tiger and its parts across international boundaries. Since the U.S. is a part of CITES, it's illegal for anyone in this country to import any part of a tiger without a permit."

"The last I heard, tigers weren't native to this country. So, if he's not getting the parts from wild tigers, where are they coming from?"

"I wondered the same thing, so I did a little digging." Greg excitedly pulled a thick document from the bottom of the pile. "This one caught my eye." He pushed it in front of Riley. "It's a recent report by TRAFFIC North America, which focuses on the U.S. _captive_ tiger population and tiger trade."

As she proceeded to flip through the pages of the report, Greg continued to rattle off what he'd managed to find out. "Did you know that there are only about 4,000 tigers left in the wild, but there are an estimated 5,000 tigers in the U.S. alone? That means that the odds that this guy – and maybe his partner – were getting their tiger parts domestically are pretty high. That report _also_ states that the individual states control the ownership, breeding, and disposal to varying degrees. Guess which states are the most lax?" He was almost giddy with excitement. One of the reasons he loved this job – besides the fact that he got to get out of the lab – was that he was constantly learning new and sometimes odd things.

"Texas and Nevada?" Riley responded.

"Right. Which means that it was probably somewhat easy for our vic and his partner to get a hold of their supply and then process it for their clients. I did a little digging, and it appears as though the biggest markets for traditional Chinese medicines – outside of Asia – are found in California and New York. "

"Sounds to me like you did a lot of digging." She put the report aside and looked at her partner. "This still doesn't get us any further in bringing a suspect in."

"Ah, but if we're right and Joe Smith and Roy Williams were partners in a business based on the black market sale of illegal goods, it gives us motive." Greg stood up and started pacing, arms gesturing as he got more and more animated. "Maybe one of them started working behind the other's back, started taking in extra money on the side. The other partner finds out, confronts him, they get into an argument and it turns ugly. In the heat of the argument, a gun is pulled and Roy ends up dead."

"Okay. So your scenario sounds feasible, but we still need to link Joe Smith to both crime scenes. We're only assuming that his prints will match the gun. Right now, we have no evidence that he has committed any crime."

Greg placed both hands on the table and leaned in to look at the pile of papers scattered about. He had completely forgotten about his cup of coffee, and it sat, ice-cold, in front of him. "I think I'm going to place a courtesy call to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. I think they have an office in Nevada. If what we suspect is true, more than one crime has been committed and I don't think the LVPD has jurisdiction over this one."

Riley stood up, and placed her mug in the sink. "I think I'm going to check in with Nick. See if they've managed to pull anything from the explosion that can be linked to the murder scene." Pointing her finger at Greg, she gave him a hard look. "I haven't forgotten about your other _issue_, Greg. Don't make me force you to talk to Catherine."

As she opened the door, Riley and Greg were surprised to see Catherine standing in front of them.

"Talk to Catherine about what?"

"Later, Greg!" Riley slipped through the door and away from her colleague and supervisor.

"I need to talk to you – and apologize – about being late." He pretended to be engrossed in collecting his print-outs and placing them in a neat pile in front of him.

"Okay." Catherine looked slightly amused and curious. "Can it wait until later? I have another scene for you to head to. Attempted liquor store robbery off the strip." She handed him the requisite slip of paper.

"That's fine. I'll catch up with you later." He grinned, happy to get a pass – for now.

"And Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"I expect to have that talk with you as soon as you get back." Catherine gave a half smile and nodded at him.

"Fine. I'll see you later, Catherine." He practically ran out of the door toward the locker room. He needed to grab his jacket and kit before finding a set of keys to one of the lab vehicles.

**End Notes:**

I tried to stay pretty accurate in regards to the domestic and international laws surrounding wildlife trade and in particular, the trade in tiger products and parts. If you wish to learn more about this topic, there are several international wildlife conservation organizations doing great work to stop the illegal trade and to protect a species in its natural habitat. I highly recommend the studies and reports written by TRAFFIC North America and TRAFFIC International, as well as World Wildlife Fund. Both organizations can easily be found by searching the internet. Most of their publications are free and easy to download online.

The report referred to in this chapter is:

Williamson, D.F. and L.A. Henry. 2008. _Paper Tigers?: The Role of the U.S. Captive Tiger Population in the Trade in Tiger Parts_. TRAFFIC North America, Washington D.C.: World Wildlife Fund.


	6. Chapter 6: Masked Fear

**Author's Note:** Agent Percy is a fictional character. Any existence of a USFWS agent by that name is purely coincidence.

**Chapter Six: Masked Fear**

The unsuccessful liquor store heist was fairly cut and dry. The idiot who tried to rob the owner was either high, drunk, or both, and managed to get away with nothing but his image on the store video camera. On top of that, his car license plate was pretty easy to glean from the surveillance, and he was arrested before Greg even left the crime scene.

Tossing his kit into the back of the SUV, Greg smiled to himself. He could easily picture the look on the suspect's face as he was being booked for his stupidity. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg noticed a sudden movement across the street. His smile faded as he took a closer look. Parked across the street was an older model Ford Taurus. He couldn't see the driver, but did notice that the plates were missing. He had a nagging feeling that he'd seen the car before. Maybe parked outside of his apartment complex earlier that week or the week before? He couldn't be certain. As the black car slowly drove off, Greg sighed in relief. Those cars were a dime a dozen. He was just being paranoid. Shaking his head, he slipped into the driver's seat and headed back to the lab.

Greg pulled into one of the few available parking spaces in front of the building and turned the radio's volume down before turning off the engine. He'd dealt with the wrath of his colleagues – and their differing tastes in music – long enough to know that they wouldn't appreciate being blasted with music at that volume when first turning the car on.

His first order of business was to get his evidence logged and stored ASAP so that he could return to the more complicated case at hand. Glancing at the time, Greg noted that it was just past midnight. He still had a good chunk of time before an agent from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was supposed to come into the Lab. Hopefully, they'd have a suspect in custody by then.

He loaded his arms with the evidence bags and his kit and struggled to close the rear door to the SUV. Greg didn't get more than a few paces from the vehicle when he stopped in surprise. There, in plain view, was the black Taurus from the crime scene. This time, the driver made no attempt to leave. Rather, the car slowly crept towards him, practically stopping directly in front of him. There was no doubt that the driver had purposefully been following Greg. As the car drifted past, Greg could see that the driver was wearing a black hoodie and a white mask. More ominous was the gesture directed at him. The driver slowly and deliberately drew his finger across his neck, and then accelerated out of the parking lot.

Greg released the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and willed his legs to move. His knuckles were almost white from gripping his kit so hard, and he could actually feel his knees buckle slightly. While he'd had to deal with a lot of threats in the past few years, this was the first time he'd truly felt as though his life was being threatened. While it was odd that the driver had not actually made any attempt to hurt him, Greg was pretty sure that the purpose of that gesture was to warn him of the inevitable.

He couldn't get rid of the evidence fast enough. He managed to get the bags logged in record time, and then set off through the hallways looking for Catherine, Nick, or Detective Brass. At this point, he didn't care which one of them he found first, just that he got his message out and hopefully managed to get a little reassurance that he wasn't number one on someone's hit list for the day.

Through the glass window of the AV lab, Greg could see Catherine talking to Archie. He made a beeline towards the room and entered without knocking.

"Hey, Catherine. I need to talk to you."

"Greg, that was quick. I'm just finishing up with Archie. Can I come find you in 10 minutes?"

"No. I need to speak to you right now." Greg stood firm and noticed the look Catherine gave him. She had the uncanny ability to read a person before they even spoke. Shifting from foot to foot, he added, "I'm sorry. It's important. It can't wait."

Catherine turned to Archie, "I'll be back. Keep scrolling through the frames. Page me know if you see anything interesting. Greg, let's go to my office."

Greg sat in the open chair across from Catherine's desk as she closed the door. He nervously bounced his one knee up and down while fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Catherine slid her lithe frame around her desk and into her seat. "What's going on, Greg?"

Greg chewed on his lip – not quite sure of how to tackle the subject and in what order. With a deep breath, he decided to just spit it out, starting at the beginning.

"So, it's October 13th. Probably doesn't mean too much to you, but it's sort of a significant date for me." He nervously looked up at his supervisor to see if she was making the connection. She wasn't. He continued. "Demetrius James died on October 13th."

"Oh." Catherine leaned back in her chair, waiting for him to continue.

"Yeah. Well, ever since that 'incident...'" He looked up to meet her eyes briefly before turning his attention back to the hem of his shirt. "Someone has sort of been making my life miserable around the anniversary. At first, it wasn't bad. You know – letting the air out of my tires; leaving notes on my car; breathing, voiceless messages on my answering machine. Typical stuff you do just to annoy people when you're a bored teenager." He paused.

"Greg –"

"Let me finish, Catherine." It was more of a question than a request. "This year, things have been worse. Bad actually. For the past two weeks, someone keeps letting the air out of my tires – the reason I've been late so often – which is more of a pain in the ass than anything else. But when I got home yesterday to find my apartment trashed and then my tires slashed, I sort of freaked. Now, there's some guy in a mask following me to crime scenes and then to the lab, and I'm pretty sure he just threatened me outside." Gripping the edge of his supervisor's desk, Greg stopped to take a breath.

True to form, Catherine's response was calm and cool. For the briefest moment, he couldn't tell if she was angry or concerned. As she leaned forward towards him, Greg could tell that she was not going to start yelling at him for stupidly not mentioning this sooner.

"First of all, Greg, you should have talked to me sooner. Or Grissom if this has been going on for two years."

"Only in October, Catherine."

She gave him a stern look and continued. "Second, regardless of how you've interpreted these 'events,' in the past, they are threats, and, as a CSI, you know better than to _not_ report them. What has me most concerned right now is that someone recently broke into your home and threatened you on LVPD property."

Greg opened his mouth to respond, but Catherine lifted her hand to cut him off.

"I noticed that you just gleaned over those facts. I'm going to call Brass, and you are going to tell him – _in detail_ – what you just told me. Afterwards, we are going to get Archie to pull the surveillance tapes from the parking lot, and we're going to see if we can bring this guy in." She reached for her cell phone and flipped through the contacts to Jim Brass' number.

"Not going to do much good," Greg grumbled as Catherine gave Brass the heads-up. "No plates on the car."

___________________________________________________________________________________________

After a couple exhausting hours of reliving the past two years worth of threats in great detail, Greg was allowed to go back to working on his current caseload. Brass assigned a few officers to keep an eye out for any cars matching Greg's description, swore to look into the status of Cole Tritt and his 'piglets,' and had warned Greg not to leave the building alone. Begrudgingly, Greg agreed.

As he strode down the hallway, he noticed Mandy waving at him through the glass window. Nick was in there with her, so he assumed it had something to do with their case. Cases? It didn't matter. They were linked regardless.

"Hey guys."

Nick looked up and gave him a quick once-over. "Where've you been, man? We paged you 15 minutes ago."

"You did?" He glanced at his phone and only then noticed the list of missed messages. Looks like Nick and Mandy weren't the only ones trying to find him. "Sorry. I've been in Catherine's office." Greg raised his brows in expectation. "Did you get something?"

"We most certainly did." Mandy turned her computer monitor around to show Greg what she and Nick had been conferring about. "Your gun print matches the print that Nick pulled from the warehouse scene."

"You got a print? From what?" Greg was feeling a bit out of the loop from having been out of the lab and then in Catherine's office for the better part of the shift.

"That's why I was trying to reach you. I got a good print off a piece of the gas line. It was definitely tampered with." Nick grinned back at Greg.

"Great. So our murderer also blew up the warehouse. Now we just need to put a person to the print."

"Speaking of that, Vartann dragged your suspect into interrogation about 30 minutes ago. Riley went in with him."

Greg dropped his head back and groaned. "Crap. I should be in there. I bet she left me a message too." Turning on his heels, Greg headed toward the door. "Thanks, guys. I'm going to observe what's left of the interrogation if anyone is looking for me."

Greg closed the distance between the Lab and the Police Department in short time. With a quick stop to find out which room Vartann and Riley were in, Greg slipped quietly into the empty observation booth. He'd never felt completely comfortable on either side of the one-way mirror. In this section, he felt like a voyeur. Earlier on in his career in the DNA lab, he'd slip in to observe his peers in action whenever he had time and a vested interest in the direction of the case outside of the evidence he'd been tasked to deal with. The feeling that he was witnessing what he wasn't supposed to – a person's vulnerability – never diminished.

Being on the other side of the glass wasn't any more comfortable for Greg. Over the years, he'd managed to develop the skills he needed to sit in with a detective and the suspect, and he could definitely hold his own. However, it still never felt quite right. While he was often desperate for answers that the evidence could not provide, he never felt comfortable employing the techniques that they most often found successful.

Greg turned his attention to the scene in the other room. From his position, he could see both Detective Vartann and Riley. More importantly, he could see their suspect, Joe Smith, squirming in front of them. Greg could tell from the suspect's body language and the shell-shocked look on his face that Vartann had taken advantage of the 30 minutes they'd had in interrogation. If Smith hadn't cracked yet, he certainly looked ready to.

Smith was doing his best to look anywhere other than at the two law enforcement officers in front of him. His one foot kept tapping the floor – with no perceptible pattern – and he was drumming his fingers against the table. In front of him were pictures from both crime scenes, including one of the latest victim. From what Greg could tell, the suspect had not yet lawyered up, and the detective was taking full advantage of the situation.

"Listen, Smith. We've got your fingerprints on the murder weapon." Vartann tapped the photograph of the gun. "And on the cut gas hose." He pushed the second image closer to the suspect. "You don't need to say a word to us. We have enough evidence to link you directly to both crimes." The detective settled back in his seat. "But it really doesn't look good. Murder One for Roy Williams and the attempted murder of two criminalists." The detective let his final words linger.

Smith looked at Vartann in panic and then switched his focus onto Riley. She appeared to read his mind – his silent begging for help – and followed up by using her own tactics. "Mr. Smith, I know you didn't intend to hurt anyone in the explosion. Probably just wanted to get rid of some incriminating goods, right? I'm sure you can probably provide a logical explanation for that. Tell us what happened to Roy. We might be able to get the charge down to Murder Two. Make a deal for you." She smiled, and Greg could almost believe her sincerity. Typical good cop – bad cop routine, he noted.

As expected, that was all the suspect needed to fold. He buried his head in his hands and moaned in despair.

"I didn't mean to kill Roy. We were buddies and had been business partners for years. I just caught him skimming from the top and I was angry. I just wanted to scare some sense into him, ya know? I don't know what I was thinking bringing my gun. It was stupid. I don't know what happened next." Joe Smith sobbed and looked at the two people in front of him. "One minute we were yellin' at each other and the next thing you know, he's on the floor. Dead. It was an accident, I swear."

Visibly pleased with the confession, Vartann pressed the suspect further. "So then you decided to torch your warehouse?

The suspect shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the question. "Me and Roy had some left-over supplies in the warehouse. Stuff we couldn't package off in the last shipment. Not much, but worth enough for me to go get. Since I wasn't going to be working with Roy anymore, I figured I'd just get as much as what I could fit in my car, and then get rid of the rest. I could run the business from home as well as he could run it in Vegas. I swear. I didn't expect anyone to be there when it blew. Thought it would just burn to the ground, and no one would ever know that I'd been there."

Riley, aware that the suspect was only touching on part of the truth, leaned in closer. "By 'supplies', you really mean the tiger parts. We found evidence of fur and bone, Mr. Smith. All of us in this room are aware that it's illegal to buy or sell any products claiming to contain tiger parts. Not only are you looking at murder and arson charges, but also trafficking in illegal wildlife products."

Riley glanced towards the two-way mirror, and Greg could almost swear that she was making eye contact with him. As quickly as she looked at him, she turned back to their suspect who appeared to be resigned to his fate. "I'm pretty sure the Fish and Wildlife Service will be interested in your client list as well as where you get your tiger parts from. Right now, that's out of our jurisdiction, but the murder charge isn't."

Greg saw Riley stand and gather her things from the table and he moved to the door to meet her outside.

"Riley." Greg called out before his colleague could turn down the corridor.

"Hey. Did you catch the whole interview?" She was slightly surprised to see him standing there.

"I missed some, but caught his full confession." Greg shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "I spoke to Catherine."

"Yeah, and...?" Riley cocked her head in the direction of the Lab, and the two of them started heading that way.

"And she's worried and pissed and immediately called Brass. Between the two of them, I think I'm on lab lock-down. Not allowed to leave the premises without an escort." He rolled his eyes.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Greg decided not to fill her in on the most recent incident in the parking lot. He'd prefer to give her the details in private – without the chance of someone passing by and overhearing their conversation. "I guess we can start the paperwork to close this case, eh?"

Before Riley could answer, they were interrupted by a page from Judy, the night-shift receptionist:

_Greg Sanders, you have a guest in the front lobby. Greg Sanders, please come to the front lobby._

Greg grinned at his colleague, "Well, _you_ can start the paperwork. I'll catch up with you later. I think the Fish and Wildlife agent has finally shown up." He turned on his heels, leaving an annoyed Riley in his wake.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Greg spent the next couple of hours re-interviewing Joe Smith with Agent Percy. While most of the information provided by the suspect was a rehash of the interview with Vartann and Riley, Smith went into much more detail regarding the way in which their business functioned. By the close of the conversation with the agent, Joe Smith agreed to provide names and addresses of the individuals they sold their products to, as well as those they received their tiger parts from.

Greg ran into Riley on the way to the locker room. It was well past the end of shift and he felt slightly guilty for leaving the paperwork for her to complete. Oh well, he thought. It went with the territory of being the lower CSI on the totem pole? At least he'd paid his dues over the years.

"Sorry for abandoning you, Riley."

"Yeah, well you can make it up to me by paying for breakfast." She smirked at him as she opened her locker. "You still need a ride home, right?"

"Fine by me. Want to invite the others?" Greg shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his keys from his own locker.

"Everyone else left already." She looked at him as though to gauge his response to her next comment. "Brass and Catherine left ages ago – not on a case – to check up on some sort of 'lead.' As far as I'm aware, Catherine closed her case already."

"Really?" Greg was curious. They hadn't mentioned anything to him about a lead – especially one related to his current situation. "What about Nick and Ray?"

"Gone home. Ages ago." Riley placed her hands on her hips. "It's just you and me, Sanders, so you'd better take me somewhere good."

Greg chuckled. "Sure thing, Adams. Mickey D's up your alley?" He deftly sidestepped as Riley moved to punch him lightly in the arm.

"Funny, Sanders." Riley's smile quickly turned to a frown. "Aren't you supposed to let Catherine or Brass know when you're leaving?"

"Crap. I'll send Catherine a text." Greg pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "They said I shouldn't leave alone, but I'm not, so it should be okay."

"Greg, I know how _macho_ you are" – she stifled a snicker – "but you're welcome to stay with me if you don't want to go home. I don't have a guest room or anything, but I do have a couch that hasn't been disemboweled by a kitchen knife."

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Greg mulled the idea over. He wasn't too excited about what surprises his home might have in store for him tonight, but he really didn't feel like sleeping on someone else's sofa either. Plus, if he knew Brass as well as he thought, the Detective probably had one of his officers camping out at his apartment complex anyway.

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks for the offer though. Let's go grab some breakfast." He grabbed Riley by the sleeve and practically pulled her out of the locker room.


	7. Chapter 7: Hit and Run

**Author's Note: **This chapter is much shorter than the rest. Apologie**s. **Many Thanks to happyharper13 for continuing to beta this story, despite being incredibly busy.

**Chapter Seven: Hit and Run**

Riley pulled into the nearest empty parking space in front of Greg's apartment complex. Almost before she could come to a complete stop, Greg was reaching for the door handle.

"Thanks for the ride." He had almost released the door when he felt Riley's hand on his arm.

"My offer still stands." She looked at him, concern written on her face.

Greg hesitated for a moment. The image of the masked man flashed in his head, and he would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't nervous about heading back into his apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar patrol car parked at the opposite end of the lot.

"I'm okay, _really_." Pointing at the police car, he added, "See. I've got my very own babysitter courtesy of Brass."

"Be careful, okay?" Riley looked somewhat less worried as she moved her hand from his arm back to the steering wheel, but she still didn't seem convinced. "Hey, do you need a ride in tonight?"

"Nah. I'm going to get my car towed to the nearest shop today. It should be ready before shift." He pushed the door open and stepped out. As Riley drove off, Greg lifted his hand to wave goodbye and headed toward the patrol car.

Greg immediately recognized Officer Layton from a number of different scenes they'd worked recently. Layton was a relatively young cop, though he wasn't really a rookie anymore. They got along well and Greg was relieved that the detective had assigned a friendly face to this particular 'detail.' It would have made things much more unpleasant had someone hostile like Andrews been assigned to sit outside of his apartment.

The young officer grinned at Greg and stepped out to greet him. "Sanders. I hear you've been causing trouble for the department again." He slapped Greg jovially on the back.

"You wouldn't expect any less from me, right Pete?" Greg chuckled. "How long have you been sitting out here?"

"Not long, but long enough to clear your place. You should be okay up there. Want me to escort me to your door?"

Greg rolled his eyes in response. "Seriously? Brass has you holding my hand all the way home?"

"Nah. I just thought you might be scared." Layton laughed at Greg's appalled reaction.

"Thank God. You had me going there for a minute."

Greg held out his hand and the young officer shook it. "Thanks for the offer, Pete, but I think I can make it to my front door unscathed. I'll see you later, man."

"I'll be right here." Layton went to get back into the cruiser, but paused. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Give me a shout if you need me, okay?"

Greg waved as he walked towards the building. "Sure. Thanks, Pete."

As he climbed the stairs towards his floor, Greg found himself moving slower and slower. While he trusted that the officer had done a thorough job clearing the route to his apartment, he was still half expecting to find some gruesome surprise in front of his door.

He turned the corner and sighed with relief. Nothing but his 'welcome' mat. Pulling his new key from his front pocket, Greg unlocked the door. Once again, he was greeted by the red writing on the wall. _Shit_. He still hadn't bought any paint to cover it. It was just going to have to wait until another day. Right now, his top priority was getting his car back in working condition.

Thank goodness for AAA. Greg pulled the card from his wallet. At least his annual membership would be worth it this year. Dropping onto his dilapidated sofa, Greg started the calls he needed to make to get the car taken care of.

______________________________________________________________________________________

He barely had enough time to shower and change his clothes before the tow truck arrived. Greg had just pulled a clean t-shirt over his head when his cell phone rang.

"Sanders." He paused and listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "Okay, I'll be right down." Greg slipped on the closest pair of sneakers and pocketed his phone and keys before heading out the door.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

With his car secured to the bed of the tow truck and the promise that it would be ready with four new tires by 5 pm, Greg turned to walk back into the building. He was tired, cranky and just ready to crash into bed. Suddenly, the loud screech of tires peeling on the asphalt captured his attention. Before he had a chance to register where the noise was coming from, he found himself in the direct path of a speeding vehicle.

_Shit! _It was coming straight at him! With little time to react, Greg threw himself to the side and rolled into the nearest hard object in his path – a dumpster. Scrambling as far back as he could press his body, Greg held his breath as the car made contact with metal and stopped. Almost as suddenly as it lurched towards him, the driver pulled the car into reverse and sped out of the parking lot onto the busy street.

In his panic, Greg had not noticed the flashing lights of the police cruiser or heard the sound of the siren. Now that the danger seemed to have dissipated, Greg was hyper aware of his surroundings.

"Greg! Greg! You okay?"

Greg looked up to see Officer Layton rushing towards him – gun drawn and radio in hand.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just go after him!" Greg pulled himself up, trying to ignore the fact that his knees were practically knocking they were shaking so hard. His hands weren't doing much better.

Officer Layton gave him a quick nod before holstering his weapon and jumping back into the cruiser. With full sirens and lights flashing, he peeled out of the parking lot in the hopes of chasing down the car that had almost cost Greg his life.

Greg walked slowly towards the entrance to his building and sat on the first step. He looked down to see that he had ripped a giant hole in his jeans and the knee underneath was scraped and bloody. His hands were also grazed and starting to sting. All in all, though, it could have been much worse.

He sat and waited. Greg's position on the steps did not go unnoticed. He received a suspicious look from an elderly woman he did not recognize. He assumed she was another tenant, but because he kept such different hours than most of the building's occupants, he didn't really see his neighbors that often. He gave her what he hoped to be a friendly smile, but at this point he wasn't so sure how convincing he could be. The woman glanced away quickly and seemed to pick up her pace. Apparently, he was not convincing at all.

It didn't take long for another patrol car to pull into the parking lot directly in front of him. Seconds later, Brass' vehicle turned in as well. It was only a matter of time before a dayshift CSI appeared on the scene.

"Sanders. You alright?" Brass strode towards Greg, who stood up to greet the detective.

Greg didn't realize how relieved he was to see the older man until he started talking. "I'm fine. He didn't touch me." Greg glanced towards the dumpster, not wanting to imagine what would have happened if it hadn't been there. This driver didn't seem to care that there was a police cruiser visibly parked in the lot. It hadn't deterred him at all.

"I've notified Catherine. She wants you to call her." Brass looked towards the Crime Lab vehicle that had pulled up next to the police vehicles. "Rebecca Evans is going to process the scene. You two know each other?"

"I know Becca. We've worked together before." Greg smiled at the woman who was pulling her gear from the back of her truck. She was known to be quiet and efficient, and Greg had no problem with having her here. Ultimately, he knew that Catherine would commandeer the evidence later anyway.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

Greg knew this was not a request, regardless of how the detective phrased his question.

"I came out to meet the tow truck. After he left, I started walking back to the stairs. I heard tires squealing, saw the car coming towards me, and just leaped out of the way."

He looked up at Brass, who was taking short-hand notes, and made a sudden realization. "Aren't you off duty, Brass?"

"Yeah, well I told Layton to keep me posted." The detective looked up at Greg. "I was heading home when I heard his broadcast. Since I was close by, I figured I'd respond."

Greg knew Brass well enough not to press further. The older man was as territorial as a tiger, and he considered the night shift CSI's as his responsibility.

"Did you get a look at the driver?"

"Sort of." Greg was almost embarrassed to admit that he had been caught so off guard that he hadn't really focused on who was driving the car. His first instinct was to get the hell out of the way.

"Sort of?" Brass gave him what could only be considered a trademarked look. Lips pursed, eye brow cocked. "You either did or you didn't, Greg. Which one was it?"

"I didn't really get a look at the driver. I recognized the car. It's the same one that was at the armed robbery scene and the same car from the Lab. Black Ford Taurus. Older model." Greg pointed towards the dumpster. "He hit the dumpster. Becca should be able to get some trace from it. He also peeled out pretty hard. I can guarantee that there are marks on the asphalt."

"Okay, thanks." Brass slipped his notepad back into his jacket pocket. "Listen, Sanders. I've got another patrol car out here to keep an eye on things. Do me a favor. Stay inside. If you need to leave, give Officer Palmer a call. He'll escort you to wherever you need to go. Got it?" Brass held out a piece of paper to Greg.

"Yeah. I got it." He took the officer's phone number and shoved it into his back pocket. "Hey Brass, I heard you and Catherine were following a lead earlier. Get anything?"

"Not really. We just went to check on Cole Tritt and the other kids who were involved in the beatings. Tritt's still in prison and most of the other's are still in juvie. Everyone checks out." Brass paused for a minute before continuing. "I'm going to check on Aaron James' alibi."

Greg looked up at Brass in surprise. He should have assumed that Aaron would be questioned, but based on their last encounter and the raw emotion from his mother, Greg didn't believe that Aaron would target him. He was sufficiently convinced that Aaron was going to stay out of trouble and Marla James would make sure of it.

"I really doubt Aaron has anything to do with this."

"I want to believe that too, but we have to check him out anyway. You know how it goes." With that, Brass thumped Greg on the back before turning to walk towards his car. "I'll see you tonight, Sanders. Stay out of trouble."

Greg made the trek back up to his apartment and closed and locked his door. As he slid the chain across the top – something he rarely did – he realized how much of a toll the past few days had taken on him. Looking down at his ripped, dirty jeans, he sighed. They were definitely not salvageable. After emptying his pockets, he just tossed them into the trash. Greg didn't even bother to pull out another pair. He just made his way to the bedroom and crawled under his covers. Before closing his eyes, he made a mental note to pick up a new comforter as soon as this madness came to an end.


	8. Chapter 8: UnLucky 13

**I apologize profusely for the long delay between chapter 7 and the final two. Please be gentle, this chapter has not been beta'd. Also, all disclaimers still stand.**

**Chapter Eight: (Un)Lucky 13**

Greg stared at the ceiling. As he lay there, he pretended that the events of the past few days were just part of a particularly disturbing dream. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation could not remain buried for long. He took a deep breath and felt his lungs fight back. His anxiety level was high and he felt as though his lungs were being squeezed in a vise.

He looked towards the bedside table at the red, bold numbers of the alarm clock. 6:00 PM. Six more hours left until the end of the day. October 14th could not come fast enough. Greg rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. All he wanted to do was to call in sick and remain holed up in his apartment – preferably never leaving the bed – until this godforsaken day came to a close. Avoidance was surely better than another shitty day, right?

Groaning, Greg forced himself out of the security of his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Before he could have second thoughts, he willed himself to place his feet on the cool hardwood floor and up towards the bathroom.

Dressed for work, Greg found himself staring absently into his almost-bare fridge while listening to his voicemail messages. As promised, his car was ready to be picked up, leaving him with ample time to get to work. Noticing that his milk had expired a week ago, Greg reached into the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice before closing the door. He contemplated pouring it directly into his bowl of dry cereal, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he pulled a plastic cup from the cupboard and returned the cereal to the box. He'd just have to grab a bite to eat later.

He quickly downed the juice and reached for the pile of random items he'd pulled from his pockets earlier. He selected only the items he'd need for the day: keys, cell phone and wallet. Running his fingers through his damp hair, Greg glanced at his wall. He could _not_ forget to swing by the hardware store today. He needed the paint to erase the constant reminder of his current situation from his apartment. He opened the front door, and closed it behind him, making sure that it was definitely locked. Greg assumed that Officer Palmer was still parked out front and headed down to see if he could get a lift to pick up the car.

It was evident that the officer was on high alert. He appeared to spot Greg the moment he stepped into the line of sight. Palmer was a veteran of the force – one of the good ol' boys – and Greg was curious as to why he was still assigned to patrol. The older man reminded him a bit of Captain Brass, but without the sharp, dry humor. The officer stepped out of the cruiser to greet him.

"Sanders."

"Hey, Officer Palmer," Greg held out his hand and the officer shook it. "Um, thanks for taking on the babysitting duty." He grinned nervously at the older man and waited for a response. The man had a great poker face and Greg couldn't tell how pissed he was at landing this particular assignment.

Much to his relief, Palmer slapped Greg on the back and chuckled. "No problem, kid. My wife was thrilled when I told her I'd be sitting outside an apartment all day instead of chasing thugs on the street. She worries. When she worries, she whines. I prefer not to hear the complaining."

Greg's smile was an automatic response. As he did not have a wife – or even a girlfriend for that matter – he could not empathize. However much he enjoyed the life of a bachelor, he'd love to have someone to come home to every day. Maybe Sofia Curtis was right. Maybe he should just get a dog.

With a shake of his head, Greg turned his attention back to the present. "Officer Palmer, do you think you can give me a ride to Bill's Auto Shop on Clark Street? I know you're just supposed to be shadowing me until I get to work, but it feels stupid to have to call a taxi for you to follow."

"Sure, Sanders. Hop in." Officer Palmer slid into the driver's seat and Greg walked around to the passenger side.

"Thanks. Do you know where it is?"

"I've been living in Vegas for over 20 years, kid. I know where _everything_ is." Palmer chuckled and pulled the vehicle out of the parking space.

* * *

Greg waved at Officer Palmer as he walked into the Lab. True to form, the officer had shadowed Greg right until he was at the front door, and didn't seem at all concerned that he had been assigned such a menial task by Brass. Greg was grateful to the older man and decided that he needed to remember to buy the guy lunch or dinner sometime soon as a thank you.

Before he could reach the locker room, Greg heard his name being called. He turned around to see Officer Layton jogging to catch up.

"Greg. I was hoping to run into you tonight."

"Pete. Aren't you off shift now?"

"Yeah, just getting ready to leave. I wanted to apologize. You know, for earlier."

Greg looked at the officer, slightly confused. "For earlier?" He couldn't think of anything Pete could feel the need to apologize for.

"I really should have noticed that car _before_ it headed for you. I had a description of the car that was following you, but I still didn't see it until it was too late. Then, I couldn't catch him. I'm sorry, Greg."

Officer Layton was visibly distressed and Greg felt awful. Because of him, he'd cause more trouble for the Department than he was worth.

"Pete, it's okay. _I_ didn't notice the car until it was too late and I had even seen it before. Plus, you came to check on me before you started your pursuit. He got a good head-start on you." Greg patted the officer on the back and gave him one of his most sincere smiles. "I'm just sorry that I had to drag everyone into my personal mess."

Pete Layton looked up at him. Greg could see that he officer wanted to say something else, but he cut him off before he could. "Listen, I'm fine. I just wanted to thank you for responding like you did. If you hadn't, I'd probably be a bloody mess next to that dumpster right now."

"I'm still sorry I didn't see it coming sooner. I'm glad you're okay though. I'll see you around, Greg." Layton turned to head back towards PD.

Greg stood in the hallway - alone. Closing his eyes for a minute, he rubbed his temple with his fingers. The last thing he wanted was to bring his colleagues down with him, but it appeared as though he was doing just that. With a sigh, he started continued walking in the direction of the locker room.

He walked in, only to find Nick and Ray already there. Greg slowly opened his own locker and pulled his vest out. As he fell into the routine of preparing for another night of work, Greg barely heard Nick close his locker and walk towards him. It wasn't until Nick was right next to him, that he looked up. Nick did _not_ look happy and Greg could guess why.

Nick waited until Ray had left them alone, before he spoke up. "What the hell, Greg. I thought we were friends. Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Greg turned to face his friend and could see the hurt written all over his face. Nick was known to wear his heart on his sleeve and now was no different. With a sigh, Greg closed his own locker and sat on the bench.

"I'm sorry."

Nick sat next to him – both men looking ahead and sitting in silence for a moment.

"I was in denial. I guess I thought that if I ignored it, sooner or later it would end and I could get on with my life." He looked at his colleague who was absent-mindedly playing with his I.D. badge. "Did Catherine tell you?"

"Yeah. She called me earlier. Gave me a heads up." Nick turned to face Greg. "I just don't understand how you could have kept this a secret for so long. Don't you trust us?"

Greg rubbed his face before responding. "I just didn't want to get anyone else involved. Anyway, it was never this bad before." He placed his hands on the bench next to him and gripped the edge – his knuckles turning white.

"Greg, you could have at least talked to me. You know I'd understand. Letting this go so long was stupid. You could have another 'Nigel Crane' on your hands."

Greg could feel Nick staring at him and could imagine his expression even without looking. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back in defeat. His response was barely audible. "I know. I wish I had."

He felt Nick's hand clap him heavily on the back. "I'll always be here for you, man. We're a team. We've got to stick together." The unspoken message lingered heavily in the air. They both understood that with the passing of Warrick, and the departures of Sara and Grissom, their small team was all they had left. If they didn't lean on each other, eventually what little cohesion they had left would begin to slip.

"Yeah. Thanks." Greg pushed himself off of the bench to standing and Nick followed suite. They walked silently out of the locker room and headed for the nightly team meeting.

* * *

Several hours later, Nick and Greg found themselves in the middle of the desert, packing up whatever evidence they found from their scene. Their victim – a young woman who couldn't be older than nineteen – had very obviously been killed elsewhere leaving very little physical evidence to process.

Greg was relieved to be paired with Nick again. While their earlier conversation had felt somewhat tense, it did not have any effect on their task at hand. The two men slipped very easily into their roles, requiring minimal discussion about how to tackle the scene. Greg had even allowed himself to relax to the point where he felt comfortable cracking somewhat tasteless jokes, despite the gravity of the situation.

David had come and gone, taking the body with him, and Greg and Nick were loading the last items into the back of the truck.

"Water?"

Greg looked up to see Nick holding out a bottle of water. He smiled and reached for it. "Thanks."

The two men leaned against the cool metal and took a moment to enjoy the silence and darkness of the night. Often, the harsh lights and constant noise from Las Vegas were all they experienced for weeks on end. It was a relief to be assigned something so far from the city. While their case was gut-wrenching and sad – as it always was with a victim so young – the change in environment was welcome.

"It's okay to be scared, you know." Nick broke the silence.

Greg looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"You're allowed to be afraid of this guy. What he might do to you." Nick looked back at him, his gaze not wavering.

Greg looked away in embarrassment. "Yeah, I know."

"Are you? Scared, I mean."

"Shitless."

The both looked out over the expanse of the desert in front of them, and Greg pulled his jacket in closer to his body.

"We'll get him. We always do."

Greg looked back at Nick who was staring out into the distance. He nodded in agreement even though he wasn't so sure he shared Nick's confidence. Sure, they'd managed to get Nigel Crane, Natalie Davis, and McKeen, but the CSI's had paid a price before they did.

Shaking his head, Greg attempted to get the morbid thoughts off his mind. He pushed his body off of the truck, and closed his empty water bottle. Nick quickly followed suit. Without another word, the two men climbed back into the vehicle to head back to the Lab.

* * *

Nick and Greg had been back at the Lab for a short while, and had already started processing their evidence, when Greg started to pat his pockets frantically.

"Shit."

Nick looked up to see Greg pulling random items from his pockets, but obviously not finding what he was looking for.

"I think I left my phone in the car." Glancing over at the table, Greg sighed. "You haven't seen it under any of that stuff, have you?"

Nick lifted his eyebrow and shook his head at his younger colleague, "No."

"It must have fallen out of my pocket. I'll be right back."

Nick turned his attention back to the evidence as Greg left the room and jogged down the hall.

* * *

"Ah-ha!"

Greg found the missing phone wedged between the seat and the backrest of the passenger side of the SUV, and quickly slipped it in to his pocket. As he stood up to back out of the vehicle, he barely missed hitting his head against the metal door frame. Before he had the chance to turn around and head back inside, he felt something hard press into the small of his back.

With a sharp intake of breath, he froze. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening. He could feel the slight tremor of fear building in his hands, in his knees, and only hoped that the person breathing down his neck wouldn't notice.

"Turn around, _Killer_. Slowly."

Greg lifted his hands and gradually turned to face who he could only imagine was the same individual making his life a living hell for the past few weeks. Trying to ignore the small handgun now pointed directly at his chest, Greg raised his head and looked directly into the eyes of the man in front of him.

Greg had to stop himself from stepping back in surprise. He was being held at gun point by a _kid_! The boy couldn't be older than 20, but the coldness of his eyes and hardened look was evidence enough for Greg that the kid was not deterred by his age. He was determined, angry, and based on the fact that he'd pulled a gun on Greg on Las Vegas Police Department property, he obviously felt as though he had nothing to lose.

_This was _not_ good. Really, _really_ not good. _Greg had to take a moment to think. A seemingly simple task, but he could hear his heart pounding, the blood rushing through his veins, and he was having a hard time focusing on what to do next. This kid obviously had a death wish and intended to take Greg down with him. You don't hold a gun on someone in front of – okay, in the parking lot of – a police department and expect to make a clean getaway.

"What are you looking at, Killer?" The boy stepped closer to Greg, pressing the gun into the flesh of his chest.

_Time was up._

He leaned in closer and spat in Greg's face. "We're going to take a little trip, Killer. Just you and me. You hear me? Nodding over his shoulder, the boy continued. "See that car over there? You are going to walk nicely over there. Keep your mouth shut and do everything I say, or I'll shoot you right here."

Greg didn't doubt that the kid would shoot him on the spot. However, he was pretty certain that if he left voluntarily, there was no chance of getting out alive. In Greg's experience, his chances were better if he could just stall long enough for someone to notice, or for someone to come looking for him. Surely Nick would notice his absence soon?

Almost on cue, his cell phone started to ring. Both Greg and the kid froze on the spot.

"Take it out and give it to me," the boy ordered.

Greg slowly pushed his hand into his pocket and retrieved the phone. He took a quick glance at the screen and saw the caller ID. Nick. Of course he would have started to wonder why it was taking him so long to get back. Greg desperately hoped that Nick would not give up. As he handed the phone over, it stopped ringing. Before the kid could decide what to do with it, it started ringing again.

Greg watched with both dread and fascination as the kid threw the phone to the ground and stomped on it. With enough force to barely render it unusable, he left it on the ground for someone to find later.

"Now move, Killer." The kid motioned with the gun and Greg started walking, as slow as possible, toward the waiting car.


	9. Chapter 9: Blind Faith

**Author's notes: Again, I apologize for the delay in getting this up. This final chapter is also unbeta'd so please don't be too harsh. I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you to HappyHarper13 who I relied on so heavily to edit and comment on the story. Many thanks! I also want to thank everyone who took the time to review and comment on the individual chapters. **

**Chapter 9: Blind Faith**

While walking as slowly as he could get away with, Greg was still closing the gap between the car and his body far too quickly. As he reached the vehicle, he turned to face the boy – hands raised in front of him. The boy never moved the gun away from Greg while he fumbled in his pocket, finally retrieving a set of keys. With eyes narrowed and trained on Greg, he slipped a key into the lock and the trunk popped open.

"Get in."

Greg glanced quickly at the small space and then back at the boy holding him at gunpoint. There was no way he was going to get in there without putting up a fight. In his professional experience, he knew he was as good as dead if he did. Greg swallowed the lump that had been growing in his throat. At least, if this guy shot him here, they'd find his body and would more likely than not find his killer. He knew that dead was dead, but he'd rather not end up as the team's next decomp.

The kid stepped closer to Greg, pressing the barrel of the gun into his abdomen. "I said get in," he hissed through his teeth.

Greg took a deep breath and planted his feet firmly into the ground before responding, "No."

The kid's lips thinned as he pressed them together, and for a moment, Greg thought he looked scared. Up to that point, he'd just appeared angry and determined.

Greg was just about to open his mouth to respond when he felt the cold, hard metal of the gun smash into his cheekbone.

He heard the assault before the pain registered – a loud _thump_ followed by ringing. Before he closed his eyes in response, he could see his vision narrowing – the area of focus getting smaller and smaller. Grimacing, Greg squeezed his eyes closed and willed himself to regain control of his swimming head and burred vision. He brought his hand to his cheek. No blood, but it was definitely going to leave a mark.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared at the young man in front of him. Without a doubt, fear was etched into the kid's face, his eyes wide and panicked. Greg hoped that his own fear was not as obviously visible. He knew, regardless of the kid's intentions, that he needed to stall for as long as possible.

"I really don't think you want to do this," he started. If he could just get the kid talking, maybe someone would notice them before he was forced into the trunk. "You don't look like a murderer to me."

"Shut up, _Killer._"

"Do you have a name, kid? I'm Greg." There was no doubt that the gun-wielding youth knew exactly who he was, but Greg needed him to start opening up and seeing him as a person. It's much harder to shoot someone you know personally. At least that's what he hoped.

I said, SHUT UP!" The kid yelled at Greg, taking a step closer. "I know who you are, Killer," He hissed through his teeth. "You killed my best friend. You deserve to die."

Greg didn't need to ask who his best friend was. This was the guy that had been tormenting him for years. It was obvious that the kid was never going to let him forget that his mistake had led to Demetrius James' death.

"Listen, kid. We both know what DJ and that group were doing out there. There's not a day that goes by that I don't regret what happened to him, but they killed people. For _fun_. You can call me 'killer' as often as you want, but it doesn't change the fact that DJ and those kids were killers too. If you kill me, you are going to be a murderer. Just like them. You're better than that." Greg took a deep breath and hoped that he hadn't just signed his own death warrant.

The hand holding the gun slipped down a bit, and Greg could see the conflict in the kid's face. This kid really didn't want to kill him. Greg just had to convince him of the fact. Suddenly, Greg noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Without turning his head, he slowly shifted his weight so that his body turned slightly in that direction. Nick and Riley. _Thank God!_

He turned his attention back to the kid, relieved that he hadn't appeared to notice the two CSI's – guns drawn - slowly making their way towards them. Both Nick and Riley were creeping low, keeping their bodies hidden by the parked vehicles. Greg was going to have to keep the kid's attention focused on him in order to give his colleagues enough time to get close enough to have a clean shot.

"Why are you doing this, kid?" Greg looked directly into the boy's eyes, hoping he could persuade him to drop the gun before things turned ugly.

"Anthony."

"What?" Greg was slightly confused. Was the kid finally breaking down?

"My name is Anthony." The young man's shoulders began to slump and he dipped his head.

Greg did not have much experience in talking down suspects – that was definitely more Nick's forte – but he knew that Anthony's body language was a good sign.

"I'm sorry, Anthony. Do you think that killing me will make you feel better? It's not going to bring him back. It's just going to make things worse."

Anthony cast his eyes down, and Greg could see that he was no longer paying much attention to Greg or the gun.

"I was supposed to go out with him that night. I was late. Maybe, if I hadn't been late, he wouldn't have ended up with that crowd. He wouldn't be dead."

Anthony raised his eyes and looked directly into Greg's. The steely glare and determined mouth were back. _Crap_

"You killed him." Anthony raised the gun back to Greg's chest. "You killed him and DJ's family just let you get away. They sold out. Took the money and let you go. That's what DJ's life was worth to them. $2 Million."

Greg took a deep breath. If Nick and Riley were going to make a move, they'd better do it soon. This situation was going downhill really fast.

Almost simultaneously, he heard and saw the two CSI's step out from behind parked cars, both with weapons raised. Nick was the first to address Anthony.

"Put the gun down."

Greg noticed Anthony tense. His back was to the two CSIs, yet he still did not turn right away. Instead, Anthony stepped closer to Greg. Quickly, he grabbed the older man and twisted their bodies so that Greg's body was shielding his. Greg was not surprised. It seemed that this was a common move by most criminals – not helped by all the crime dramas on TV – but didn't make him feel any more at ease. At least he still had a good view of his colleagues, and they of him.

Greg and Nick made eye contact before the older man addressed Anthony again. They both knew that this could get even uglier if the kid panicked.

"C'mon, man. You know this isn't going to end well if you don't put your gun down."

Despite feeling shaky and nervous and pretty much scared out of his mind, Greg knew he had to keep his composure. "Listen to him, Anthony." Greg glanced at Nick who nodded back. "You know it's true. If you let me go, we can put in a good word for you. Make a deal."

"I can't, I can't."

Greg could feel Anthony starting to loosen his grip – the pressure of the gun against his back slightly easing up. He knew this was his chance. The CSI's had been well trained with both weapons and evasion techniques, and this was his opportunity to use what he'd learned. Greg's eyes met Nick's, then Riley's, and almost instantaneously, he made his move.

Without giving himself time to question his decision, Greg dropped and twisted to his right. At the same movement he felt his body move, he heard a single shot. He rolled to the side and glanced at the spot where he'd just been standing. Anthony lay writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. Greg scrambled back to standing and kicked Anthony's gun out of the way. As he did so, both Nick and Riley approached, guns still drawn.

"You okay?" Riley lowered her gun and re-holstered it in one fluid movement.

"Yeah. Fine." He watched as Nick cuffed Anthony. "What took you so long?"

Nick gave him a quick sidelong look, frowning. He was just about to open his mouth to respond when Greg grinned.

"Thanks."

"Uh huh. Anytime. Just don't do this again. Got it?"

"Not planning to." Greg looked over Riley's shoulder and noticed a couple of uniforms heading their direction. "Did you call for back up?"

Riley looked back and saw the officers. "Yeah, and Brass."

The officers took over from Nick, reading Anthony his rights and taking him into custody. As he started walking back to the building with Nick and Riley, Greg noticed his broken phone lying on the ground.

"I guess I'm going to need a new phone after all." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and picked up the pace. "Any idea who's going to get stuck processing this scene?"

Riley piped up as Nick held the door for all of them. "If Ecklie had his way, someone from Days. If Catherine has her way, she and Ray will take it. Of course, she's going to rip you a new one first."

Greg cocked his head to the side. He was pretty sure this "incident" was not his fault.

"You left the building, Greg. Alone!"

"I was just walking to the parking lot to get my phone. I didn't think it was a big deal," he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Well, big deal or not, she's going to rip me a new one too. I _let_ you go by yourself." Nick lightly punched Greg in the arm as they walked down the hall.

Before they could get far, Brass intercepted the trio.

"Jesus, Sanders. You can't even keep yourself out of trouble even when you're surrounded by law enforcement."

Greg knew Brass well enough to read into what he was saying. Despite his gruff comment, Brass' eyes betrayed a slight twinkle – a "tell" usually reserved for ribbing the former lab tech.

"What can I say, I have a magnetic personality." Greg grinned in response. The smiles were coming a lot more freely now that he knew he was out of trouble. He could almost feel the weight of the past few days lift. On top of that, the knowledge that he would not be harassed every year at the same time – as he had been since Demetrious James' death – was liberating.

"Alright. You know the drill. We're going to have to take your statements, process the scene. Yadda yadda yadda." Brass motioned to an officer waiting at the ready. "Sanders, you're with me."

Greg followed the detective into his office, ready to give his account of his most recent harrowing experience.

* * *

Greg sat smiling at the table, nursing his third and final cup of coffee for the morning. He loved these team breakfasts, especially since they'd become so rare. Their empty plates littered the table in front of them and the waitress placed the check in the middle before attempting to clean up.

"Breakfast is on me." Greg reached for the check and quickly glanced at it.

"I'm not one to argue," Catherine stated with a small smile, pushing her chair back from the table. She pulled her jacket from the back of her chair and lightly touched Greg's arm. "Thanks, Greg."

Ray and Nick followed Catherine out of the diner, leaving Greg and Riley sitting alone.

"Debating whether or not to chip in, Adams?" Greg teased, pulling the bills from his wallet.

"Not a chance, Sanders. I never turn down a free meal." Riley rose from the table and waited for Greg to do the same. "Just wanted to find out what time you wanted me to come over."

"What?" Greg was confused. He had no recollection of making any plans with her.

"Well, I figured you needed a couple of hours to run to the hardware store and pick out the paint and supplies before I show up." She grinned at the completely bewildered look on his face. "Oh, and you'd better pick up enough for the whole living room, because there's nothing worse than the white sterile walls you currently have. Just make it something pretty."

With that, Riley laughed and walked out the diner, leaving Greg speechless. It took him a moment for her offer to help him paint to sink in, but when it did, he just chuckled. He slipped his arms into his jacket and started out the door.


End file.
